Hybrid
by trenity170
Summary: When help is sent to the Magdelene order, Rosette and Chrono begin to doubt the capabilities of the new exorcits, but when hordes of demons attack, and romance blooms, what's a exorcist to do?
1. Sunset

**Disclaimer:** Uh, hello, just want to say, that I would be amazingly happy I would be if I EVER owned Chrono Crusade, but alas, I do not, so yeah! So c'mon people and use your brains!!

The boat was getting set to leave as a young woman leaned against the metal railings, the wind catching her long, smooth hair, sending it whipping around her face. She just sighed deeply as the large horn sounded, filling the air with its deep timbre. She could have sworn her bones rattled from the engulfing noise. She could see her good friend, Sister Rena, waving at her from the dock, calling out to her with well wishes. She just waved at her and did her best to grin. She felt oddly lonely, leaving her home country of England.

The boat made its way from the dock with an agonizingly slow speed, the white crested waves rocking the large behemoth of a ship side to side. She watched the shores of England slowly disappear from her vision, replaced by the deep cobalt colored waters.

"Well, are you ready?" a smooth male voice spoke out behind her in a rough American accent. She just sighed in response, her shoulders sinking slowly.

"Well?" he asked, his voice having a commanding tone hidden in it.

"Yes, I'm ready, now will please stop bugging me," she replied softly in a gentle British accent.

"Hey, I've hired you, and I want to make sure you're no coward," he walked over to lean casually against the railing next to her, his soft leather jacket's hem brushing against the metal floor.

"And pray tell why did you come all the way to England just to get an assistant?" she asked, not willing to look at him. Her bright ruby red eyes stared at the gray-blue sky that was blotched with clouds. Her tan face turned upwards to stare at the sky.

"Because I needed a very talented assistant, and it seemed like you were the best," he replied, grinning at her, but she remained stony. Her hair streamed out behind her in silky waves. It was a deep coffee color until it reached to her shoulders, and then it turned a brilliant scarlet color. Her bangs were very long and she had to almost constantly push them out of her eyes and they too were scarlet tipped.

"I must say, you are quite cute, a lot cuter then the description Sister Evelyn gave me," he replied, tugging playfully on one of her ears.

They were pointed, and pierced, as was the fashion of many of the teenage girl's of England. While most of the holes (there were seven) were filled with small gold hoops, from her right ear dangled a long silver cross, inlaid with a ruby. Etched into the sides was a prayer in Latin, asking for her soul to be forgiven. It flashing in the cool morning light, and they were one of the few passengers brave enough to stand on the deck, amid the wood cargo boxes and biting wind.

"Well, it seems that at least one of us is enjoying ourselves," she muttered, watching the young man stick his head over the side, mouth open, as if tasting the wind.

"Stop that, you look like mutt," she moaned, feeling embarrassed to be seen with someone as outlandish as him.

His name was Eamon, he was an American, and an exorcist, a very good one at that. He traveled all over the world with his parents died, from demons. Occupational hazard, she guessed. Eamon was odd, and at times, very clumsy, and awkward, especially around older women, though she did not know why. She just sighed, the wind blowing her hair out behind her, and the salt in the air stinging her tongue. She bit it thoughtfully as she sat down on one of the crates and stared at her companion.

He greatly lacked manners, and he demanded to see her as soon as she woke up, so he first saw her in her white cotton night gown, hair still tousled from sleep. It was not the best way to meet a young man, as Sister Evelyn later lectured at her, but he said the moment she woke up, and so, she complied. She rested her chin on her hands and just sighed, staring at her boot covered feet. No matter what, she always dressed practically, and even though she wore a dress, she still wore boots, and knee length pants she nicked from Father Tomas.

"So, since you don't seem to be for talking, I might as well try to start a conversation. Do you mind if I ask you what's up with your name?" he asked her, sitting on the crate across from her. She looked up at him with a bored manner, he was about five inches taller then her, and it bugged her, having to look up to him.

"My name? What's wrong with it?" she asked, now curious, since no one else ever said anything was odd about her name.

"Well, it's Christopher Michael Gabriel is your name, correct?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her, "You don't think that it's a bit odd?"

"No, I mean, no one ever told me it was, and I wasn't very big on going outside the monastery," she replied simply, as though it answered his question. "Why is it odd, though?"

"Well, they're all mainly first names, and the names of saints, or archangels. Just curious as to why a mom would name her child something odd like that, and why her last name was Gabriel." He shrugged at her and just flexed his long, rough fingers.

"My mother's last name wasn't Gabriel," she replied, leaning forward to tie the laces on her brown leather boots.

"Well, then, why is your last name Gabriel then, when it wasn't your mother's? Was it your father's?" She just glared at him. He was very annoying, and pestered her to no end, but seeing as she would now be stuck helping him, she saw no reason as to why they had to remain strangers.

"Gabriel was not my mum or dad's last names. I have no clue what their last names were, and neither do my family at the monastery," she replied, shrugging like it was perfectly normal, "My mum died giving birth me, and my dad, we have no clue as to who my dad is."

"Well, that's a bit odd. Didn't your mother live at the monastery, didn't she have family who would want to claim her body, or a husband at the birth who could tell someone what her name was?" he just cocked an eyebrow. It was odd that she felt that this was so normal, he thought, that his life was as mundane as some content housewife.

"Gabriel was a moniker given to me by Sister Mona, the woman who delivered me, because above my mother were paintings of Gabriel and Michael. As you can see, they weren't very creative," she replied, giving him a weak smile, brushing a clump of hair behind an ear.

"So then, what's with Christopher?" he replied, "It's a male name ya' know."

"My mother's only piece of jewelry was a Saint Christopher medallion, so there you go, will you please leave me alone, you just dragged me away from my home country," she snapped at him, annoyed that this American was asking so many questions.

"Jeez, sorry," he replied sarcastically. The sky had slowly turned to twilight, and they would be arriving to America in two days (I think that's how long it takes…probably wrong, but just go with it) and she was beginning to think that it would last like an eternity. Her eyes were heavy from sleep, since Eamon woke her up early in the morning, and she had gotten to bed very late the previous night. He just silently got up, and walked slowly to sit down next to her, and she couldn't help but lean her head upon his shoulder. It was getting cold fast, and she was still wearing rather thin clothing, meant more for autumn with no wind, not for the burning cold of the sea's hurricane strength wind.

She slowly fell into a deep sleep as she breathed in the smell of Eamon. He didn't smell bad, more of leather and a soap, with a slight hint of a soft cologne. It was oddly soothing, she thought as she reached the "shores of sleep" as Sister Evelyn put it.

Eamon smiled softly at the young girl asleep on his shoulder, and gently pulled a small, worn envelope from the pocket of his jacket. He opened it one handed. It was simple.

It read that he needed to meet an exorcist and her partner at the docks. Their names were Rosette and Chrono, odd names, and that they would bring them to someone named Sister Kate. That was it.

He just sighed and gently tucked the envelope back in his pocket. He looked at the girl sleeping, her eyes closed peacefully. She had a metal disk hanging from a sturdy silver chain. He smiled slightly at seeing it was a St. Christopher medal.

He gently moved away from her, letting her lay down, curled on the crate's hard top. Eamon delicately picked her up, cradling her small body closer to his chest, noticing just how cold her body was. He carried her down the metal steps of the boat, and placed her on the bed, the only bed, in their small room.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his Khaki slacks, stained with dirt on the knees and hem, and sighed, casting a reproachful look around the cold metal-walled room. Since there was only one bed for the both of them, and he was decent guy, most of the time, he pulled his jacket off and curled it on the floor. And only after he had removed his shirt (he didn't like sleeping with anything that has a collar) he stretched out on the floor, his back on the rough metal, and gazed at the wall. This was going to be a long trip, indeed…

-there we go, the next chapter has Chrono and Rosette in it a lot more, sorry! Oh, and please review and tell me what you think! Bye!!


	2. Prayers and Oatmeal

**Authoresses note:** Thank you to all who reviewed, I'm far too lazy to mention your names, but thanks, and here we go, I hope you enjoy!

Christopher awoke slowly in her bed long before the sun began its slow journey across the skies. The room was filled with an icy chill and she pulled the rough wool blanket closer around her body trying to fight the frosty air. There was little noise in the small room, besides the soft snoring of Eamon and the sound of the water lapping against the steel hull. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around the dim room.

There was no light to be found, except for the small oil lamp left dimly burning next to the door. She quietly pulled herself out of bed and lit the three other small lamps that hung down from the ceiling. It entire was room was soon flooded in a soft golden light, each lamp straining to exude as much heat as it could.

She smoothed the cloth on her dress out as she re-laced her boots, pulling the laces tight, wincing as they bit deep into her skin. She stretched her arms out, careful not to wake the young man sleeping on the floor.

Eamon was stretched languidly on the floor, one hand on his bare chest, as it rose up and down slowly as he breathed in and out. His messy red hair was plastered on his head from what she guessed was sweat. His head rested on his leather jacked, and the rest of him was sprawled on the floor, his khaki covered legs twitching in sleep. He was shivering just slightly from the cold emanating from the floor.

She sighed deeply, pulling the wool blanket off of the small bed and placing it gently on the young man, covering his shivering form. A slight smile graced his lips and she muttered "sleep tight" to him as she made her way quietly out of the room.

She slowly climbed up the ladder like stairs to the deck. It was slightly coated in frost and the sun was just beginning to rise; small spikes of red slicing across the sky, while the moon slowly set on the horizon.

She made her way across the frozen ship's deck to the bow. The boat still slowly plowed through the water, cutting into the deep blue waters, sending a white spray into the air. She placed herself delicately near the bow, facing the gently rising sun, her eyes closed, and her face held in rapture.

Her right hand grasped an elegant rosary, the small cross dangling down from her fist. The ruby red beads glinted in the sunlight like drops of blood. Her face was flushed from the cold, a deep rosy color that covered the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. She opened her garnet colored lips and sang.

"Nostrum Abbas , quisnam pulvis in Olympus , sanctio exsisto suus nomen. In regnum adveho , vicis ero perfectus , in terra ut is est in Olympus. Beatus nos is dies , nostrum cotidie bred , quod indulgeo nos nostrum tresspasses ut nos indulgeo qui tresspass obviam nos. Quod plumbum nos non unto tentatio , tamen vindico nos ex malum. Amen," her voice quavered, each note striking clear and true in the cold air, cutting through the air like a knife. (btw, she's singing in Latin)

"Amen," a male voice called out behind her. She spun around to see Eamon, standing there, with no shirt on, just his jacket, the blanket draped over one arm. The sun was now hovering just above the horizon, silhouetting Christopher in a scarlet light. For a moment, Eamon found himself breathless from Christopher. At that moment, she seemed like some spiritual being sent from heaven above. The wind whipped around her, sending her hair swirling around her body, and Eamon felt the warmth of a blush rush to his cheeks.

"Uh, I woke up and saw the bed empty. I guessed you were up here, and thought you might be cold. I didn't know you could sing," he just did his best to smile at her, doing his best to ignore the blush that was almost glowing off his cheeks.

"I can't really sing, it's just I used to sing with the choir every morning at sunrise, it seemed like it'd be a shame to miss it," she replied, walking over to him, ignoring the fact that her feet slipped on the frosty deck.

"Here," he held out the blanket and she just smiled at him, making to walk past him, but he placed a hand gently on her shoulder, stalling her just long enough to quickly wrap the blanket around her body. It was still warm from his body and she stopped shivering almost instantly, pulling the blanket closer around her body.

"Thanks, thought I didn't really need it," she replied, looking at him sideways over her shoulder.

"You know, that accent of yours is really cute," he said suddenly, placing a hand under her chin. She just smiled coyly back at him.

"You know, that is accent of _yours_ is really cute," she replied and she walked away, dropping the blanket onto the ground and making her way back down to their cabin.

Eamon sighed, walking over to pick the blanket off the ground, groaned as he bent over, his muscles still sore from sleeping on the hard floor. He dusted the frost off the blankets rough texture and draped it off his elbow, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. He shrugged his shoulders off handishly and just sighed.

"Women, what can you do?" he said to himself and he made his way back to the cabin, his body chilled from the cold.

The moment Christopher stepped into the cabin; she closed the door behind her and locked it, not wanting Eamon to walk in while she was changing. Her dress was horribly wrinkled from her sleep and she stared at herself in the tall mirror, and wrinkled her nose at what she saw.

Her hair was slightly frizzy and when the light hit it, it seemed to make a halo of light around her head. Groaning, she bent down and unlaced her boots, kicking them into a corner, and as they hit the wall, a loud clang filled the room. She winced, covering her ears from the overwhelming noise. She silently cursed her stupidity and she unlaced the bodice of her dress, letting the rough silk cloth fall off her torso, flopping softly on the ground at her feet. The small leather laces were curled on the floor like diminutive snakes.

She undid the laces on her skirt and pulled off the outer layer and the numerous white petticoats, letting them fall around her ankles.

"Hahaha, so, the lady kicked you out of the room?" a sailor laughed at Eamon as he sat outside of the room, opposite of the door of their cabin. He just glared at the man as he walked away.

"Shuddup!" he yelled at the man's back. He could hear his laughter echoing through the metal hallways. He pulled his hat down over his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

By the time Christopher was done with her shower, the room was thoroughly drenched in steam, her skin rubbed red. She had pulled on an undershirt and the knee length pants by the time she heard someone outside the door yell 'shut up'. Laughing silently to herself, she pulled on a fresh dress, this time it was a blood red color of cloth, with a slim bodice. She shoved her hair over her shoulder and shoved her boots casually on her feet, not bothering to lace them.

She quickly pulled the door open, wincing as it cried out for oil. It woke Eamon, who was gently sleeping across from her. He started at the noise, his body jerking.

"Good morning, sleepy head," she said cheerfully, brushing off her skirt.

"Wha...?" he muttered, looking up at her with hazy eyes.

"I said good morning," she nodded her head to him.

"What were you doing in there that took you so long?" He asked, pointed at the room as the steam billowed out to him, smelling of soap and damp. "Never mind, you were showering…" he trailed off, a blush rising gently onto his cheeks.

"Well, are you going to sit there, or are you going to go and take a shower yourself?" she asked, placing a hand on her hip.

"Nah, besides, I'm hungry," he hoisted himself off the floor and began to walk to the small mess room, looking over his shoulder at his new partner. "What, don't you eat?"

"Of course I eat, what do you think I am?" she asked, giving him a stony glare.

He sullenly stared at the floor as he followed the young woman to the mess room. The room was wide and thin, the same gray paint covered it's walls as did the rest of the walls of the ship's interior. Tubes carrying who knows what stuck out on the walls and snaked around the ceilings. The light came from a mixture of electrical lamps and the small gas kind that sat in their rooms.

Sailors lay languidly on the metal benches provided, eating what smelled like porridge out of cheap ceramic bowls. Christopher slowly made her way to the large window where the grizzled cook was bent over a large metal pot full of porridge. He grinned at her with a mouth full of missing teeth and his untidy salt and pepper hair stuck out from under a white bandanna.

"What'll ya have?" he asked her, his rancid breath washing over her. She did her best not to look offended, but she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. His voice was deep and rough, and sounded like his speech was gravel instead of words.

"Well, it seems that all you have is porridge, so, porridge it will be," she looked disdainfully as a heavily chipped bowl that was placed on her small wooden tray. She groaned, and made her way to one of the tables, soon followed by Eamon. He jabbed a thumb at the cook, who was laughing at something, but they did not know what.

"Nice guy, could use a bath," Eamon said to her, grinning at her casually. She just rolled her eyes.

She just looked at him, then back at the food, and shrugged at him.

"Is it safe to eat?" she asked, sniffing a spoonful of the oat-y mush.

"I don't really know…" he trailed off, then took a small bite of porridge off the tip of the spoon. Then he promptly fell over, off the chair, looking quite dead.

"EAMON!" she could help but cry out as she vaulted across the table to reach the young man as he lay sprawled out on the floor. "Eamon, can you hear me?" she asked as she shook him roughly by the shoulders. He promptly opened his eyes and grinned at her.

"You know what, besides the slight milky aftertaste… not bad," he grinned at her.

"Oooooh, you rotten!!" she cried out, cuffing him on the head.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his head.

"So, boys, remember what I said, tonight, we'll take care of those…" an ominous voice whispered off from a dark corner. A large group of sailors looked over their shoulders and grinned at the young exorcists.

"Tonight…" they all muttered and nodded their heads in unison….

-Sorry for the moment of cliché there!! So, pleeeease tell me what you think! Have a great time, review, and yeah. Next chappy has fighting in it, and in the fourth chappy, they meet Rosette and Chrono! Bye!! Oh, and the prayer she says in latin is a real prayer in real latin!!!! Just wanted you to know!


	3. Prelude to a fight

**Authoress' Note**-Hello, again! It's so great to be writing this again. I love these characters!! Eamon is my favorite, even though you guys don't know very much about him. You'll find out soon! La de da… enjoy!!

"Here," Christopher held her hand out to Eamon, the trace of a smile gracing her soft crimson lips.

"Thanks" he groaned as he grasped her hand and pulled himself up. Her hand was rough to his touch, her fingers covered in calluses. She made to pull her hand away, but he held onto it, turning it upward so he could look at her palm. Scars ran along her palm along with the small wrinkles it the skin; they stood a bright white on her tan hands. Christopher quickly pulled her hand back, burying them in the long sleeves of her dress.

"Why does such a lady have such worn hands?" he asked, smiling at her slightly, trying to make light of the situation.

"I just did a lot of hard labor at the monastery," she replied, looking away from his beautiful eyes, a blush rising on her cheeks.

"They really shouldn't be having a girl do all the work," he replied indignantly.

"It's nothing," she replied, sitting back down in front of the chipped bowl filled with the gray colored mess of porridge. Eamon followed suit, blowing on each spoonful before gently licking the sticky mess off the spoon.

Christopher sighed as she took a small spoonful, and gingerly took a small bite. It was rich, full of brown sugar, honey, and raisins, it's sweet, oat-y flavor dancing on her tongue slowly followed by a milky taste. She quickly took another large spoonful, and sighed contentedly.

"What? I mean, it's good, but not _that _good," Eamon stared inquisitively at her. Her face wore a smile, and her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the porridge. She looked like she was heaven and it confused him, as to why this porridge seemed to have this affect on her.

"At the monastery, the food was very bland, mainly oats soaked in warm water. I just love the… flavor this porridge has, silly isn't?" she asked, smiling at him apologetically.

"No… no, that's fine, just curious," he replied quickly, so quick that when he closed his mouth, the tip of his tongue got caught between his teeth, and it quickly drew blood, the coppery liquid filling his mouth.

"Well, just be careful, curiosity kill the cat," she replied smartly, quickly indulging in yet another spoonful of porridge.

"Heh, but satisfaction brought him back," he replied back, wiping the blood off his tongue.

"You, Eamon, are too smart for your own good," she chided, shaking a finger at him like a mother to her son who just stole a cookie.

"Better to smart then too dumb, eh?" he replied, grinning at her lopsidedly.

"Funny, very funny," she replied sarcastically. She had taken an almighty bite of porridge, finished her bowl and walked it to the cook, who took it with ham hock sized hands. He just grinned at her with what teeth he still had and she quickly walked out of the small mess hall, and made her way up to the deck.

She hated the feeling of being contained, and being stuck in a matchbox sized room was not helping. The moment she stepped onto the large deck, the wind hit her, blowing her skirt around her ankles, and sending her hair into a frenzy, as it danced crazily around her body. She shuddered, as the frigid wind seemed to go straight through her, chilling her to the bone. Her dress did little to keep the elements out, and she pulled her black cloth shawl closer around her shoulders as she made her way to the bow of the boat, her boots clanking awkwardly on the steel deck.

"Hey!" A voice called out to her. She spun around, to face Eamon. His short hair was blowing about as the strong eddies of wind whipped at him. His leather jacket snapped in the air as it too was thrown about from the breeze. His face was flushed from the cold, and also probably because it looked like he had ran to the deck on the steep steel stairs.

"Hay is for horses," she replied, and instantly regretted it. That was what Sister Evelyn would always say to her when she was younger, and she had long since promised to herself that she would never do so herself. Well, she just broke that promise.

"Damn," she muttered to herself as she pushed her hair out of her face so she could see the young man. He was very skinny, with large hands and feet, very lanky, but lean. He was strong, but he didn't look it. But then again, neither did she.

"And you say I'm too smart for my own good?" he asked, smiling at her.

"Hmpf," she muttered as she sat down on one of the crates and she just stared at her boots, no emotion evident on her face.

"What, don't tell me you're out of steam now," Eamon replied sarcastically, but Christopher just looked up at him with a sad sort of smile and just sighed.

"I guess you're right, Sister Evelyn was right," she muttered as she then turned her gaze to her palms, she stared at the scars and the winkles and just sighed deeply, her breath making her bangs flutter out from her face, and the wind slowed down, to nothing but a pleasant breeze.

"About what?" he asked as he tied his shoe, as his laces had untied themselves in ways he did not know.

"About everything, I guess," she muttered, and she just looked up to face Eamon, who had collapsed comically to sit on the crate in front of her. Their eyes met and Eamon just got this terrible sense of sadness from her. Her lips were almost always slightly frowning; the corners tugged down from the weight painful memories.

He had never guessed that she would have been like this. He remembered writing to his old friend, Father Johnson, and asking if he knew where he could find a good partner. The reply was simple, saying that he knew the perfect assistant for him, and that all he needed to do was come to the monastery. He had to admit, he was skeptical, as his good friend had done something like this to him before, promising information on a demon, when all he really wanted was to see him.

But this girl in front of him was real, just as promised, and now was in his care and he began to doubt his decision. She was powerful, for sure. But she was very alive, with emotions and feelings that he could never understand. The clouds parted for an instant, filling the scene with sudden warmth, as golden light replaced the cold silver that was filling the air.

The scene was of a young girl, unsure of herself and what she could do, and a boy, contemplating if he was really ready for this. The breeze was gentle, and all it did was gently tease their hair and clothing, causing nothing more then a slight chill to ebb into them.

"Why, why did you want me as an assistant?" Christopher asked suddenly, surprising her companion.

"Because," he replied, not wanting her to press for the answer, afraid of what its affects might be.

"Because why?" she inquired as she did her best to try to decipher what he was thinking.

"I heard you were skilled in ways that I might never be," he replied truthfully, and soon after, he bit his tongue to keep it still. He felt this urge to tell her everything, as it seemed to will his tongue to talk all on its own.

"So, you're no different," she muttered silently, as she stared glumly at her palms again.

The wind picked up again, and Eamon shuddered, pulling his jacket closer around him. He just hunched over his knees, willing the cold to leave his body, but knowing it wouldn't.

"You're cold?" she asked, and he just laughed slightly to himself. Of course he was cold, and he knew she must be too, as he heard her shawl rustle again.

"Just a bit."

Christopher sighed, knowing just what to do. She closed her eyes, placing her palms to the sky, and she took in a steadying breath. Eamon looked up to see her focusing on what, well, he didn't know, but he was curious. An unseen wind swirled around her, sending her hair flying straight up, reaching to the heavens. Her brow furrowed from concentration, and Eamon watched as a small orange ball, the size of a pea, hovered over her palms.

"What are you…?" He trailed off as the small orange ball grew, and he felt warmth radiate off of it, twisting around his body like some sort of snake. He sighed in relief, and as he stared at the ball, he realized just what she was doing; hovering above her palms was a ball of fire, now about the size of a grapefruit, and she opened her eyes, smiling slightly at him.

He sat there, the warmth washing across him, and he realized this was the power that the Father had told him about, and he felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, but it was stopped as he heard behind him, someone speak.

"Well, well, well, an exorcist and a conjurer? You're all headin' to 'merica, right? Too bad you'll be arrivin' in cedar boxes!" a young voice spoke out behind him in a slow drawl.

Eamon spun around and Christopher stood up fast, and they felt themselves staring at a large gang of sailors, led by a young man in fine clothing, holding a sword in his left hand.

Eamon herd Christopher groan, and he knew just what she was thinking.

"Damn."

-There we go, well tell me what cha' think!! Wuv ya! Bye!


	4. Israfel

**Authoress' note: **Thank you for reading this far into the story, and I want to say thanks too all of you who review. Much thanks!! -, gotta luv these smilies!! (Laughs) Well, enjoy, and I hope you're enjoying this!

Eamon just groaned as he did his best to keep from swearing. Of course, it seemed just like fate that of all the boats he had to board, it would be on full of people intent on killing him, and now his partner, Christopher.

"The only person to be leaving in any box will be you and your foolish comrades," Christopher replied as Eamon quickly pulled out the only weapon on him at the time, a small dagger.

"Oh, so the young conjurer thinks she can take us on, when her partner only has a knife?" the rich man replied in his smooth drawl.

"He can fight very well by himself, and I suggest that you stop calling me Conjurer, as I do have a name!" she replied and Eamon stepped back as fire erupted from her hands and twined up her arms like mystical snakes of scorching fire.

"So the lady will fight while her partner will watch, what an age we live in," he smirked back. Eamon recognized that smirk, and in an instant knew who he was.

"Rael, what are you doing here?!?" Eamon demanded and Christopher shot a glance at him. His face held the look one might get if an old, dead friend suddenly appeared in front of you as some kind of vindictive apparition.

"Ah, Eamon, you have another assistant, it would be as shame to have to kill her too, she's quite easy on the eyes," he replied, his face still holding an arrogant smirk.

The young man, Rael, was slightly taller then the rest of the sailors crowded around behind him, making him also taller than Eamon, with a shock of white blonde hair that fell neatly around his pale face, parted at the left. But his hair was soon whipped into a frenzy as the boat started to accelerate, as it cut through the sea vigorously with renewed energy.

Christopher steadied herself as the floor began to vibrate hard as the engine was forced into overdrive, the propellers pushing the giant vessel through the water with surprising momentum.

"So, you don't want me to call you Conjurer, then what should I call you… freak?" Rael replied, smirking at her. She bit her lip as she felt the urge to hurt him boil up in her, like hot wax, and she resisted it as it came close to consuming her, that rage at that word.

"You will do good not to speak to my assistant like that!" Eamon replied, spitting at the young man dressed in a long black overcoat.

"And why?" He replied, pulling the elegant rapier out of its sheath, as he leveled at Eamon.

"Eamon, what do you want me to do?" Christopher asked silently, looking at her partner with sad eyes.

"Take on the sailors, I will handle Rael," he replied as he moved forward. She nodded her head and looked at the sailors who began to advance, moving slowly and in unison, their boot covered feet pounding the steel floor as Christopher moved forward gracefully, the fire twining slowly up her arms, the warmth washing over her like boiling water.

"So, this pretty gal thinks she can take us on?" one of the sailors asked smirking at the large man next to him who guffawed back. Christopher scowled at the group of gruff men, who just sneered back.

"I think this gal will be beaten by ma' little finger," his partner replied with a rough voice. They chuckled at her, and the rest of their comrades joined in, the chilly air becoming filled with the gravelly sound of their laughter.

Christopher just smirked, she had taken on morons like these and she hand no problem taking care of them and their lives. She quickly gauged just how many of them there were, and her final count was 72. It didn't take a genius to figure out that there was little chance she could take them all, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

She felt deep inside herself, and felt for the warmth of the astral lines, and there, just in reach, there it was. Gently, she tugged it, drawing strength from it, and sent it to the fire flowing around her arms. She could feel the humans pull away and she just smirked.

"You are all going to regret this," she muttered, as she slowly opened her eyes, gazing at them through her dark lashes. They drew back slightly from the girl, and while she was small and scrawny, the fire winding up her arms was enough to scare them alone. All they were armed with were metal poles… she had fire, and that could do a great deal more damage.

She slowly raised her hands up at them and the fire quickly wound off her arms, curled around her hands, then quickly jabbed across the gap between her and the men, scorching the first 20 men, who screamed at the inferno engulfed them.

Eamon shot a glance to his left as heard screams of pain. A large group of men were engulfed in an orange blaze, and the rest drawing away as Christopher conjured more flames, as the wrapped around her arms and all over her body. He could see the girl's face was calm, and as still as stone, her eyes closed in thought.

"Right, she seems to have that covered, how about you just leave us alone, Rael?" he asked, taking a glace at the young man in front of him, take a defensive stance, his hands raised, his left hand grasping the dagger, his other held rigid.

"Now, now, I have no qualms with you; I have qualms with who you _used _to be," Rael replied smoothly, swinging the sword expertly in his hands. Eamon just scowled at him.

"What are you talking about, Rael?" he asked, staring at the young man, who just smiled coolly back at him, his long, slim body was covered in luxurious black cloth from head to toe, the long jacket just brushing the floor.

"Do you even remember?" the blonde replied casually, smirking at Eamon with his icy blue eyes.

"Of course I remember," he snarled back as Rael darted forward in a blur of black. Eamon did his best to dodge and he felt the steel tip of the rapier slice in the skin on his cheek. His warm blood dribbled down his cheek, slowly dripping off his chin and onto his clean shirt.

Rael just smirked, licking the slight smear of blood off the tip of his blade, letting the ruby drops slowly hit the light, and then gently fall onto his tongue. He gently licked his soft lips, and just smiled at Eamon. It was a sight to see, the two men fighting. While Rael appeared like an angel, spun silver hair and pale skin with sapphire eyes, and dressed impeccably in fine black cloth, Eamon was dressed in casual brown leather; his face was tanned and smeared with dirt while his messy hair was an aggressive red. He was chaotic, along with his clothing, and his eyes were a vivid green. They were quite different, one messy, the other clean, one seeming human, and the other too perfect to be real.

"Rael, you are treaded on dangerous territory," Eamon muttered, wiping the blood off of his cheek with the back of his hand, the dagger's blade glinting in the sun.

"Eamon!" Christopher's voice cut through the blur of thoughts filling Eamon's mind.

"What is it, I'm a little busy," he called back as he dodged another blow from Rael.

"These things aren't human!!" she called back and he cast a quick glance at where Christopher was now attempting to fight off a mass of black, charred human shaped figures as the moaned and started to swarm upon her. She was swinging her fire wreathed arms at the charred things that were once sailors.

"What!?!" Eamon cried out as he blocked another blow from the elegant sword's blade with his dagger's sharp edge. The sound of clashing steel filled the frigid air, the loud noise being swept roughly around by the wind to reach all over the deck.

"They won't die! I'm guessing their souls are bound to their body," she replied as one of the black figures reached out with what was a hand and tore at her dress, ripping her right sleeve roughly, the seams tearing, as it now hung limply, attached by barely a stitch.

"Rael, you monster, you did this!" Eamon screamed as he quickly darted forward, slicing at the pale young man, cutting deep into his well built chest.

"Of course, better to serve me then serve Him," Rael replied, smirking at him as he placed hand on the deep cut, letting the blood trickle in-between his fingers and dribble down his hands, curling around his knuckles.

"You fiend! To think you were an angel!!" he shrieked as their weapons clashed again. They met quickly, heralded in a clash of steel, to only part a second later, quickly leaping away, and landing gracefully on the steel floor. To anyone who watched it appeared like a dance, a deadly dance that was kept in rhythm by the clanging of steel and the sounds of their boots pounding the floor. There was no music except the occasional scream of pain as the steel bit deep into the flesh of one of the two. One was a blur of white and black, the other red and brown. It was a sight to see. Like two titans of old battling it out for the world.

"Well, Eamon, I have seen how weak you have become, if you even want to even think of beating me, I suggest you remember who you are, _Israfel," _and in a sudden flurry of white feathers, Rael disappeared, the feathers scattering to the winds.

"Bloody Hell, who kill a bird?" Eamon heard Christopher exclaim, making him smile slightly, but he soon regretted it as when he did, he only caused his split lip to tear open a bit more, sending a fresh wave of warm blood down his chin.

Eamon quickly made his way to meet the young woman as she fought the burned mass with slowly decreasing vigor. Her arms were cut and bleeding along with her face and torso, long scraps of her dress's cloth littering the gray deck. He could see ash streaks mar her skin, and beads of sweat drip down her face, smearing the cinders as it rolled off her chin, dripping onto her bodice.

She licked her dry and cracking lips, attempting to moisten them as she felt deep inside her again for the astral lines and she weakly grabbed a small strand, forcing it to fuel the fire, as it seemed to have the best affect against the things.

"Eamon, would you mind helping me out!?!"

"Coming, my are you impatient!" he replied, still cocky and he took a running leap off of a large pile of crates, landing next to the young girl.

"Would you help me out, I assume that you know the incantation?" she asked, letting the fire die, as she decided to save the last bit of energy she still possessed.

"Of course, shall we begin?" he replied, taking a hold of her rough hand.

"Everto sent ex Abyssus may Olympus ira adveho down super vestri caput capitis. Amen!" they cried out. Eamon did nothing but speak, but he felt his energy leaving his quickly as the words poured out of his mouth, the magic infused with each word burning his lips and tongue, sending the copper taste of blood into in mouth.

But Christopher soon dropped to her knees, as she weakly grasped onto a few small strands of the astral power and infused them with her words. They burned as they left her mouth and began to wrap around the charred bodies advancing on them. And as they spoke the last final word of the incantation, she focused all of her strength in grabbing the most astral power she could, and she felt the invisible lines cut and burn into her palms. She resisted the urge to scream out in pain as her vision blurred and then went dark. Her strength spent, she collapsed on the floor as the bodies dissolved into dust, their spirits joining the astral rivers that flowed in the sky while their ashes were blown away by the strong breeze, whipped around by small eddies.

Eamon felt Christopher's hand leave his, surprisingly cold, and he heard the sound of her body hit the metal floor. He quickly turned to look at her. She laid curled slightly, her bloody, burned hands outstretched still, as though she was still reaching for the astral lines. Her lips were cracked, blood dripping off of them, the edges burned black and dry. Tears were still hanging off her closed lashes and they trembled with each shudder the floor gave as he stepped forward, threatening to fall.

He placed a hand on her forehead and was surprised to find it icy cold, as if she had fallen into death, though she still breathed. Her strength, energy and spirit spent, he gently picked her up and cradled her close to him as he licked his own dry, burned lips.

Indeed, she was strong, most people her age could not conjurer that much astral energy without dying, or being consumed, becoming nothing more then an empty portal for the energy to flow, their souls disintegrated into nothingness. He gently laid her on the crate, the wind whipping at her form. He looked up to the bow to see that he could already see land as the ship barreled forward, oblivious of the battle just fought.

He just stood there, letting the wind hit his face, sending ice down his bloodstream, and he just stared up at the sky, and sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging.

"So, Rael, you have come, just for me…" he muttered, pulled his jacket closer around his body, and then proceeded to bandage his companion's burned, cut, and beaten form.

-Gosh, sorry this is so long, but c'est la vie. And yes, there is more latin, well, enjoy! And bye… oh and please review.


	5. Crash and burn

**Authoress' Note: **Well, I'm back, and though I'm not seeming to be getting a lot of reviews, I really just have stopped caring, I mean, this is mainly here for my enjoyment, so yes, the story continues to whoever is reading this, and a sincere thanks from me for taking your time to read this. Oh, and Rosette and Chrono FINALLY come in!!

Eamon silently began to bandage his partner, though he wished he could have healed her, but it had been too long and his energy was all but spent. Sweat dripped down his brow, silently hitting the steel deck scattered with the ashes of the recently exorcised humans under the control of Rael.

Her arms were badly injured, blood oozing slowly out of each cut, staining the wooden crate with smears of scarlet. After gripping firmly onto a handhold of the cloth that made her right sleeve, he quickly ripped the sleeve out, breaking the small seams, sending string and cloth into the air to be whisked away by the wind.

After tearing off her other sleeve, he then surveyed the damage. Her arms were a mess of deep cuts and burns, as they laced up her arms, blood trailing down her arms, washing them in deep burgundy.

Eamon swore slightly to himself as he used his handkerchief to wipe the blood off her small limbs, so he could better survey the damage that had been brought upon her. It wasn't good, these cuts, combined with the other cuts that were scattered all over her body, were enough to make a human bleed to death, and it make a wave of nausea wash over him, as he realized just how dire the situation had become.

"Christopher… Christopher… can you hear me? Please, hold on!!" he urged her quietly but he knew it was in vain. His own blood puddle around him on the floor and the salt air stung each and every bloody crevice, making him bite his lip to avoid from screaming. Darkness was already encroaching upon his vision, making it harder and harder for him to see as his view was now hindered by the thick dark edging.

But hope can, as just before his vision became dark, he could see, very close to the boat now, the docks, and what he guessed were two people waiting for them, probably this "Rosette and Chrono". He let a sigh of relief issue from his dry and cracked lip, as he felt his strength slowly return.

But there was a problem, as there always seems to be when a situation is most dire. With no one steering the ship, there was also no one to stop it from hitting the coast line. He groaned to himself silently, as he gently pulled Christopher closer to him, hoping she could survive the crash, knowing he would.

He quickly shut his eyes, squeezing them tight, and he braced himself for impact, his blood racing through his veins, making his head light from dizziness.

Then it happened, the crash. The sound of breaking wood, groaning metal and the screams of onlookers as they saw the huge ship crash recklessly into the docks, tossing wood and debris high into the air. The ship's deck shook violently from the stress and he felt millions of small splinters of wood fly past him, whistling slightly as they spun through the air. Some cut into his skin, making small droplets of blood bead out and roll down his face, and he did his best to shelter the dying girl next to him, pulling her limp body closer to him to avoid her getting any more injured.

He could feel her life leaving, like a fire that was dwindling, her skin already cool to the touch, as though she had already fallen into death, though she remaining breathing, her heart struggling to pump the meager amount of blood still left in her still body.

The then ship stopped. The sudden stop in momentum caused the deck's contents to lurch forward, sending large crates skidding across the steel and flying into the air.

Eamon did his best to dodge as many boxes, clutching Christopher to his chest, but there was one, one that was flying briskly thought the air, that he could not. He quickly spun around, facing to the box with his back, desperately grasping onto Christopher.

A scream of pain issued from his lips and the crate's thin wood burst as it met his back, sending him to his knees amid of shower of shredded paper and pottery. And there he lay, his back bruised and bleeding, weakly clutching the almost dead girl to him. But there was hope, he heard two sets of feet making their way to him, the sound echoing in his ears as his eyes became blurred from blood.

And there, right there he passed out…

Rosette stood there on the deck of the large ship, staring at the debris along with her partner Chrono. Their eyes surveyed the damage, as they remained oblivious to the young man who lay passed out, his arm resting across the dying girl that was once his partner.

They made their way across the deck, checking for survivors, both oddly quiet, as though this seemed far to surreal to be happening, when Rosette stumbled, falling quickly to her knee, scraping it upon the deck's surface.

"Ow… what the…?" she stopped talking as she realized what she tripped on. It was the arm of a young man, covered in a soft leather sleeve of a jacket, as blood dribbled out from the young man's arm. His right arm, the one she didn't trip on, was lying across the limp form of a young girl, her tan skin looking oddly pale, as no color graced her cheeks or lips, which were now turning slightly blue.

Her brown hair lay fanned out around her and the young man, a soft glisten from her eyes let the young nun see she was crying, the tear hanging off her deep black lashes. The sleeves of her dress were ripped off, and her burnt, bloody hands were clutched feebly to her chest.

"Chrono!!" she called out as she quickly knelt near the girl, placing two fingers upon her neck, as she sighed, feeling a jagged, uneven, weak pulse, but a pulse none the less. She quickly checked the young man, who pulse was still strong, though slightly irregular.

"What…" Chrono didn't finish what he was saying as he stared at the scene, and just stood there, slightly in shock.

It was sight to behold, and the two exorcists quickly began to try to help the two youths stay in the world of the living…

It was… damp… Yes… damp… Christopher slowly stirred, not on the ships deck, but on grass, still covered in dew from a chilly morning. The small beads of water clung to her warm body, ever so often sliding down her skin to reunite with the grass.

She opened her eyes, and was greeted with sight for sore eyes. Lush emerald colored grass stretched as far as she could see, rolling on gentle hills. The sky was a bright baby blue, the clouds ambling around, with little a care in the world.

Groaning, she sat up, propping herself on her elbows. She quickly surveyed her body, and was surprised to see that her arms were not cut, nor burned, nor in any way bloody. Her skin was slightly pink from the heat the issued from the golden orb of the sun that hung in the sky.

The torn dress that once adorned her body was no longer, her form dressed in a flowing white garb, made of many soft layers. Christopher slowly stood up, not entirely comprehending what was going on. One moment she was on a ship, and now she was here.

The air was moist and filled with the scents of fresh cut grass and the air just after a spring storm. Grass nuzzled her bare feet, and the dress fell softly around her ankles, and it seemed to float as it was teased and tossed by the gentle breeze that brought in the slight smell of the sea.

There was little sound, except the rustling of grass, and no other form of vegetation was to be found except a small grove filled with various lilies, her favorite flower.

She ran her hands down the dress, unsure as to why she was wearing this. It was elegant, and light as air, with long billowing sleeves that covered her fingers. Thin gold rope was threaded on the cuffs, and a similar rope was tied around her waist, the ends of the rope covered in small tassels, tipped in what appeared to be diamonds, that shone like dew.

Her hair, now soft and tied back with a thick gold clasp, danced around her body as the wind picked up, the eddies playing with the grass and making the lilies sway gently.

Curious now, she walked down to the grove of lilies, placing a timid hand on the large snow colored petals of a resplendent Casablanca lily; the sweet scent seemed to fill her senses, reminding her of honey.

"Lilies, your favorite," a soft voice said suddenly behind her, making her muscles tense. But this was a voice she knew, or at least thought she knew. For even though she had never heard it, they say a child always knows its mother's voice.

Excitement overflowing, Christopher spun around to face a woman, who must have been at least 20. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her hair the color of ripe wheat. Her skin was as pale as alabaster, albeit for the salmon pink that tinged her cheeks, and the deep crimson that made her lips. She was dressed in similar garb, but a small circlet of gold crowned her head.

"My dear sweet daughter," she murmured, placing a hand on the Christopher's face, resting on her thin cheeks. Christopher felt the salty sting as tears leapt into he eyes.

"Mum?" she asked, unsure for once in her life. Her heart wanted to weep as her eyes already did.

"Yes, yes, my child," was the reply, the voice soft and breathless.

"Oh how I've missed you!!" Christopher cried out, as she ran into the embrace of her mother's arms, for the first time in her young life.

"And I you, and I you…" her mother ran her hands along her daughter's hair, smoothing out the messy frizz.

"I thought you died," Christopher whispered, her head resting on her mother's thin shoulders, relishing the calming warmth that sent shivers down her skin.

"I did, Christopher, I did, and I still am… do you know what that means??"

Christopher stood there, slightly shocked, as she pulled away from her mother's embrace, staring around her with wide eyes.

"You mean to say, that this… is death?" Christopher asked, her voice growing weak as her knees threatened to give way.

"Yes, but it is not the place for you to dwell… just yet that is. You still have quite some time left in you, dear," her mother replied sweetly, placing her hands on her daughter's pointed ears, smiling at her.

"I… don't want to die…" she replied, scared, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Then don't… head back, my daughter."

"But… there are so many things I need to ask you…" she was cut off as her mother placed a warm finger on her lips, stilling them.

"Another time, eventually, you and I will have all the time in the world, but you cannot stay here for long, I am sending you back, but I do have words of comfort for you," her mother whispered, her eyes crinkling in a soft, sad smile.

"I knew you would have a hard life, and I'm sorry, and you will find your father, someday, and remember… I love you…" and as her mother reached forward, kissing her daughter softly on the forehead, Christopher felt herself become weak, and slowly, she slipped back into the waking world…

-There we go!! What do you think??


	6. No Tears

-Hello again, I'm glad to get the reviews you guys are giving, there aren't many, but their all really nice! And yeah… Quick bit of trivia, I'm enjoying writing this because I have writers block on my novel… still stuck on it…. Means there'll be more chappies to come!

Eamon sat outside of the room Christopher was resting in, staring at his shoes, his bangs being kept out of his eyes by the rolls of white gauze that covered his messy cap of red hair. He stared at his hands, flexing and un-flexing his powerful fingers, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. It seemed unreal, that Christopher lay in the room behind him, fighting for her life.

He had no clue what happened after the ship crashed, but what he did know was that he woke up he was here, in what he guessed might be classified as a monastery, but it was more the headquarters for the "exorcists of the Magdalene order". Apparently, instead of him and Christopher finding Rosette and Chrono, they found them, collapsed on the deck of the ship.

He sighed deeply, as he thought about just what exactly had happened, and slowly, his fingers curled into fists as he chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. It was slowly eating away at him, the knowledge of what to do, but he was too ashamed to do it. Deep down, he knew it wasn't his fault, but it still ate away at him, gnawing at his soul.

He stood up quickly, made his way to the door to Christopher's room, and then he ceased movement, his hand hovering over the metal knob. Then, he quickly turned around, storming over to the large window that was across from the door. Gently, he rested his forehead on the cool pane of glass, closing his eyes and letting himself calm down. His warm breath sent fog blooming across the chilly surface as he sighed deeply.

Normally, Eamon was rather carefree, but it seemed that at this moment, every care he had just nonchalantly tossed over his shoulder suddenly came crashing down on his head, making him feel older than ever. What had happened before he passed out seemed unreal, as if Rael had never come, never spoken his true name, and never injured the young girl still resting in the room behind him.

Israfel, it had been a while since he had been called that, too long. And that name was the reason why he was so torn up. If he still had his wings, he could have healed her with out even thinking, but this was what he had been reduced to, mourning over a girl who hadn't even died yet, unable to help her no matter how hard he might try

"I bet you're laughing over this right now, Rael," He muttered, turning his back to the window, resting gently against the clear surface, careful not to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid down the surface, and he crumpled against the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. He wished he could cry, but alas, no tears would come, he could feel them bite at his eyes, but he knew none would fall.

"Uh… Eamon?" a timid voice asked him, and he looked up slowly, surprised to see a young girl standing awkwardly in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back. She had long white hair and red-ish hued eyes, and was smiling at him sadly. Her long hair was pulled away from her face by a soft pink bow that matched her short dress, and she rocked back and forth on her small feet.

"Uh… yeah, that's my name… for the time being… Who are you?" he asked as he slowly stood up, his head still hanging from shame.

"My name is Azmaria," she replied shyly, smiling at him sweetly.

"Nice to meet you," he wiped his hands off on his pants and offered it to the girl, and she took it timorously, her small hand dwarfed in his. It was odd, her hand was as pale as alabaster, seeming ever paler in his tan hand.

"Uh, yes, pleasure to meet you too," she replied in her soft voice. He gently shook her hand, and let go, careful of what seemed like such a delicate hand.

"Yeah…" he trailed off, his stunning emerald eyes staring longingly at the door that separated him from Christopher. The girl looked over her shoulder, to see what he was looking at, and noticed the door, a look of understanding darting across her face.

"Oh, that's right, Rosette said they found the girl with you, do you want to see her? I mean, it should be safe for you to go on…" she trailed off when she saw the look on Eamon's face, a look of utter sorrow that seemed to flow from his body, making him seemed older then when she had first seen him.

"No, I would feel ashamed to see her…knowing I could have helped…" his voice trailed off into oblivion, the last few words hoarse as he struggled to speak through the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Oh… alright…" and with that, the angelic little girl walked away, silently, her hands swinging slightly at her sides. Another pang of guilt wracked through him as he realized he just dumped some of his sorrow on the girl's thin shoulders.

Casually, he brushed off his jacket, which was badly damaged from blood, a crying shame as it was his favorite jacket. It might be saved…might.

He was unsure on how much time he spent staring at the door to Christopher's room, but finally he couldn't stand it anymore. He roughly grabbed his hair, tousling it, and then briskly walked to the door, turning the cool metal knob, and stepped into the room.

The room was plain, it's wall a stark white, small pictures of saints hung on the walls, and there was a metal bed, the kind you find at an infirmary, placed next the window on the far side of the wall. It lay open, a fresh breeze teasing across the girl sleeping under the covers. Yes, Christopher lay there, her long hair covering her pillow in slight curls, her eyes closed peacefully. Bandages covered her arms, which lay on top of the sheets and the plain blue quilt that covered the mattress.

Her forehead was bandaged also, pushing her bangs out of her closed eyes, but what scared him was the lack of color in her face. Her cheeks held no blush, and somehow her tanned skin seemed as pale as the girl's, Azmaria. Her lips were tinged blue, and when he placed a hand on her cheek, he was met with cold flesh. He stared at the face of the young girl, and for the first time noticed the scar that ran across her right eyebrow, a sharp line of white on tanned skin and dark brow. One finger lingered gently lingered on the spot, as he wondered just how she got it, and he gently held on to her hands, clasping them in his.

"What's her name?" he heard a male voice ask from behind him. It was a youth, with odd purple hair, long, and tied it in a braid that ended in a cheerful yellow bow. He had rust colored shorts on that fell to his knees, and a jacked covered a white shirt. The young boy was dressed oddly to Eamon, what with a thick bandana over his forehead, and such, but he made no comment. He wasn't one to criticize someone's fashion sense.

"Christopher… Christopher Michael Gabriel," he replied as he chuckled at the name. It was still an odd name and he couldn't help from a slight laugh.

"Aren't those boy names?" another voice asked, this time female. It was a blonde nun, with bright blue eyes, dressed in the uniform for the militia for the exorcists of the Magdalene order and she had just stepped into the room.

"Yes, they are, but those are her names. She was born in a monastery, and has no family," he replied, one hand still tenderly clutching the girl's limp hand.

"Ah…" the nun trailed off. Eamon guessed that she knew a bit about having no family.

"Excuse me for being rude, but you are Rosette and Chrono, correct?" he asked as he took off his jacket, hanging in on the metal coat rack that sat gloomily in one corner of the room.

"Yeah," Rosette replied as she walked over to the girl.

"What happened?" Chrono asked, sitting in one of the chairs that was at the foot of the bed, his golden eyes flicking up and down the girl small form. From the angle the Eamon was now standing, he could clearly see the pointed ears that adorned the sides of Chrono's head, and he knew instantly, but bit his lip, keeping quiet on that, but speaking up to answer the question presented.

"We were attacked by a man named Rael. He sent the boat's occupants after us, they were all dead, captured in their bodies, prisoners of his. Christopher was fighting against them… and… well…" he trailed off, his eyes staring sadly at the girl's hands.

"What happened to her hands?" Rosette asked, her eyes following Eamon's, and seeing the fresh blood stains that left scarlet streaks on the snow white cloth wrapped around her arms.

"The Astral lines… She's a rather gifted conjurer. You see, she uses the Astral lines to summon the elements, quite talented if I may add," he replied, nodding his head to her.

"That's a nice piece of trivia, but it doesn't answer my question!" Rosette replied, annoyed. Chrono just looked at her, smiling apologetically at Eamon.

"It's like dealing with invisible metal wire. Use to much of it and it'll bite into your skin," he replied, holding up his palms as though it helped. Chrono nodded his head, while Rosette glared slightly at Eamon, for some unknown reason, she just didn't like him.

Eamon looked out the window at the slowly setting sun, as it painted the sky with bright oranges, red, and purples. He sighed deeply, his shoulder sagging in exhaustion.

"How long was I asleep?" he turned his head to look at Rosette, and as the sun hit the young man's eyes, she could have sworn they were baby blue. (hint hint nudge nudge)

"Not very long…" she yawned, stretching her arms above her before covering her mouth. "I'm heading to bed…" and with that she walked out the room, followed soon by Chrono, who silently closed the door.

After a few minutes crept past, he stood up, and walked out the room, casting a sad glance at the sleeping Christopher, and made his way to where Sister Kate was staying.

He knocked softly on the door, and after getting permission, walked quickly walked into the room, closing the door almost immediately behind him. He looked at the middle aged nun who was sitting at a wood desk, her hair captured under her habit.

"Hello, Sister Kate," he smiled genially at the nun, trying to stave away any fear of the nun. He prayed that the rumors he had heard about her temper were wrong.

"Good evening, Eamon," she replied, her voice dangerously quiet. In that moment, Eamon had already begun to head for the door, with quiet steps, his hands searching for the door's knob. To his misery, he didn't reach it in time, as he moment his fingers reached the metal knob, his ears were met with an unearthly long lecture.

"EAMON! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY IT'LL COST TO REPAIR THAT DOCK!?!?" she screamed, tossing the paperwork down on the desk with a large smacking sound. Eamon winced visisbly, squeezing his eyes shut. This was not the way he wanted to arrive back in America.

"A great deal of money, yes, but I promise you, I will pay for it," he replied, keeping his voice at the same soothing tone horse trainers used.

"Really? Do you have that much money?" she asked him, cocking an eyebrow at him in a mocking manner.

"Yes… and with that… I'll be leaving!!" he quickly turned the knob, and slipped out of the door, slamming it behind him and with that, he ran. His feet pounded against the floor as he did his best to run away from the enraged nun, taking refuge in Christopher's room, slamming the door and quickly pressing his back against the cool wood of the door, his heart beating painfully against his chest, and we was sure that anyone could hear it.

And as he looked at the still resting form of Christopher, he was surprised to find her waking, her eyes slowly beginning to open, and finally, she was awake…

-There we go, yippee, please review, and sorry this chappy was not as good as the others. Oh, and quick bit of info, if you want to know why Israfel sounds so familiar, check out Chrono Crusade volume two, and see the song that Rosette was singing.


	7. Waking Up

-Back again!

Christopher's ruby eyes slowly opened, her lashes parting and the color rushing back to her face. Her limbs were heavy, as though lead weights had been tied to them, and the act of breathing itself was exhausting. She could see movement out of the corner of her eye, but guessed it was Eamon, and she was right. He was soon standing over her; a look of relief stole across his face for an instant, to be replaced swiftly by annoyance.

"Took you long enough to wake up," he muttered, and quickly walked out, a blush rising on his cheeks. She tried to respond, but all that came out was a slight rasping noise, her breath just barely escaping from her cracked lips.

It had been a long time since she had felt like this, and she cursed herself for using so much energy. She weakly attempted to sit up, her arms shaking from the strain. By the time she was finished sitting up, she was gasping for breath, and as her lungs struggled to provide her with oxygen, pain raced across her ribs.

The only noise in the plain room was the sound of her breath rasping out from between cracked and bleeding lips. It took her even longer for her to throw her thin legs over the side of the bed and stand, or at least attempted to stand. As soon as her thin frame was upright, her legs began to shake from the strain, her knees shaking violently, threatening to let her fall to the tile floor.

She rested a weak hand on her bed, steadying herself before she even tried to look in the mirror. Her hair was fuzzy from sleep and the tips were singed black, no doubt from the spell. Bandages wound up her arms, her legs, and her torso, covered only by a rather frilly nightgown, just a bit too big in the chest and too slightly short in length.

Off, lying on its side in a corner was her trunk, battered, beaten, but her trunk non-the-less. Awkwardly, she made her way the weathered trunk and slowly released the leather belts that bound it closed. With sore hands, she opened the top of the trunk, and peered cautiously inside.

Her clothing and belongs stayed relatively neat, and all items were intact, nothing broken or shattered to be seen. Timidly, she reached into the large trunk, pulling out the first dress she touched.

The sound of rustling fabric filled the air as she shook the fabric's wrinkles out, sighing at the small tears in the fabric. It had been three years since she had been able to buy new clothes, and she was sure it showed.

She sighed, unbuttoning the nightgown so she could get dressed. Her fingers were surprisingly numb, seeming thicker then normal, as she struggled to unfasten the small white buttons. It took her some time, before the back finally hung open, and she slipped out of it, checking her body for wounds.

Some blood had stained through the snow white bandages, and she turned slowly, looking at her reflection in the mirror. It didn't look like her, this body covered in white bandages. It seemed wasted, tiered, older then usual. The body just didn't seem to be hers.

She slowly began to dress, pulling on the dress slowly, starting with the white cream petticoats underneath, buttoning the low black slowly, and observing the small tears and holes that came with age. Quietly, she smoothed the fabric, setting the hem straight, and checking the lace, and disappointedly shoved her fingers through large holes that had appeared from the wear and tear.

With surprising speed, she pulled the outer dress on over her head, letting the rough cotton rub almost painfully against her suddenly sensitive skin. With a sigh, she observed the dress in the mirror. It was once a bright blue, but had now been worn to a steely gray, the hem on the skirt and long sleeves were frayed, and the lace had seen better days.

It only took her a minute to realize that her pants were the torn mass of tan cloth that lay crumpled in the corner. Christopher walked over, picking the shredded pants, and holding them up to the sunlight that streamed through the window. The large holes did little to block out the blinding light, and there was no way she'd be able to by some new ones anytime soon. All of her pocket money was in the pants… and the pockets had been ripped out, and she did not see any glint of money on the floor.

"Great, not only am I stuck in America… but I have no money," she muttered to herself.

With a great sigh, she rummaged in the trunk to find her brush and comb, and began to try to tame her wild mane of semi-burned hair. It took her little time to get it to lie relatively flat, but she's need a shower to get it silky again, and she examined the burned tips, once scarlet, now coal black.

Slipping on a her pair of boots, she made her way out, hoping she could figure out where she was, and if she could find any scissors. She made her ways through the hallways, ever so often passing a nun or priest. From that, she deduced that she must be at a monastery, or large church. What surprised her the most was to see just how many of them had weapons, guns strapped to their hips and the like.

"Excuse me…" a timid voice spoke from behind her. Christopher quickly turned around, to face a young girl, with almost white hair, and pink-ish golden eyes. She was dressed cutely in a knee length that jacket that covered her clothes; a beret of pink wool was placed jauntily on her head.

"Oh, good day," Christopher replied quickly, doing her best to smile at the young girl, though she was wary.

"Ah, you're Eamon's assistant?"

"Yes, how do you know that?" she replied, her smile slowly beginning to drop.

"Oh, he was just worried about you," the girl replied smiling at her sweetly.

"Bollocks, all that Yank worries about is what's for supper," she replied crossly, scowling out at the window. She was still sore at Eamon, since he was the reason she was wearing this many bandages.

"No, he really was worried!" the girl replied quickly and she grasped onto Christopher bandaged hand, and pulled gently to make the girl look at her. Christopher did, and was meet with pleading eyes.

"Hm, whatever you say," she murmured back, and an awkward silence settled on the two, only to be broken by the growling of Christopher's stomach. It sent the young girl to her left into soft giggles, covering her mouth respectively.

"We have a cafeteria, if you want to eat…" the girl fell into another small fit of giggles.

"Ah… yes, that would be nice…" Christopher replied, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"If it's not to much for me to ask, what it your name?" Christopher asked the young girl, who was humming some hymn under her breath.

"Azmaria, what's yours?"

"Christopher Michael Gabriel… or Christopher if it's easier to roll off the tongue," she replied, looking at the girl, who was shorter then her.

"Mmm hmm… here we are!" she motioned to the large oak doors that lay in front of them. Christopher timidly placed a hand upon the wood, and the gently pushed the open to reveal a large room, filled with aroma of food and the sound of chatter. She followed the young girl named Azmaria as they weaved through the long tables to finally stop at a table where two people sat.

On was dressed as a nun, with blonde hair and blue eyes, the other a young man, with long, braided purple hair, tied with a yellow ribbon, and golden eyes, and the pointed ears of a demon, though Christopher didn't' feel the urge to point this out. The two looked up as soon as Azmaria announced her, and she did her best to smile at them, though feeling awkward.

"Hello," the boy was the first to speak, standing up slightly, and motioning for her and the girl to sit. The nun just looked up from the slice of bread she was dipping in the yellow soup, nodded her head, and continued to eat ravenously.

"Good Afternoon," Christopher replied, politely sitting down next to the boy while the young girl sat next to the nun, a smile still on her pale face.

"You're Christopher, right?" the boy asked, smiling at her, trying to invite her to become more relaxed. But all Christopher did was nod, still remaining tense, her eyes darting around the room.

"Why is you're name Christopher?" the nun asked, swallowing the last large chunk of bread and washing it down with the glass of milk the left of her now empty bowl of soup.

"The nun's called me that," she replied, her hand fiddling nervously with the worn lace on the hem of her sleeves.

"Yeah, but why?" the nun pressed, nodding her head to her.

"My mum had a saint Christopher's medallion around her neck."

"Why didn't your mother name you?" The nun added, quickly getting a small glare from the boy, and she quickly returned it ten fold.

"My mum… well she died giving birth to me, and my dad, well I don't know who he is," she replied quickly, shrugging it off, along with the sympathetic looks from the group.

"It's nothing, don't even remember her. I was raised by nuns and priests at a monastery, so they're my family," she smiled sadly at them, letting her gaze fall to the worn wood table.

"Th…That's so sad," the girl named Azmaria murmured, shaking her head.

"Well, Azmaria and I are orphans, so we understand," the nun replied. "I'm Rosette Christopher by the way."

"Pleasure. What is you name; you are demon, are you not?" Christopher asked to the boy sitting next to her.

"I'm Chrono…" he trailed off, though the question was in his eyes.

"You're ears are pointed, and I can sense auras. If that was what you were going to ask," she replied, nodding her head to him. "I've met a few demons, and most of them weren't very nice, but you don't seem bad, in fact, I think you're better than the dolt I travel with," she replied, smiling at him.

"Eamon, right?" Rosette asked, nodding her head to Eamon, who was sitting a few table away.

"That's him," she replied as she pushed a clump of her hair behind one pointed ear.

"What happened to your hands?" Azmaria asked, staring at the heavily bandaged hands.

"Oh?" she flexed the digits, "I just didn't properly summon. You see, I use the Astral lines as a power source, if you will, and doing so, I can summon various elements. I've been able to do it since I was little."

"Wow!" Azmaria looked impressed, though she got an odd look from the nun and demon.

"Astral lines are people's souls, how can you use them?" Rosette asked, narrowing her eyes, a bit suspicious, when Eamon came over, clapping his hands on Christopher's shoulders, grinning.

"Hello! I see you've met my partner!" he called out, and not soon afterward, they heard someone scream…

-There we go! You get to find out more about Christopher and Eamon in the next chappy! Thanks, and read and review.


	8. Dying

The five sitting at the table looked to where the scream was emanating from, and were surprised to hear it coming from outside. Everyone in the cafeteria quickly jumped up, rushing to where the scream had come from. Christopher and Eamon were at the head of the rushing group, and as they burst out the door, they saw something that made their hearts almost stop beating.

It was a large gang of demons, behemoths loomed above them, and smaller ones were clustering around a group of nuns, none of them armed, and all crying, their faces held in agony. And then, he walked out. Rael.

Impeccably dressed as ever, in a tailored black suit, the man just walked forward, drawing his rapier, and wearing the same cocky smirk as the last time Christopher and Eamon saw him, he just chuckled slightly as he walked to them.

"Well, well, looks like you and the half-breed survived. I must say I'm impressed, but this time, you two won't get away too easily. As a warning to all you militia here at the Magdalene Order, back off if you don't want to meet your maker," his voice was smooth, like velvet, and commanded every bit of attention as he smirked, walking forward with liquid grace.

"Stay back, I'll handle him…" Eamon spat behind him to the militia. "Do you have any more fight left in you?" he asked to Christopher, who nodded her head.

"I have all the fight I need…" she replied, her voice deadly quiet as she walked forward, a large wind whipping around her in a mini gale, making her hair swirl above her like snakes to a charmer and ripped the bandages off her skin, sending them whirling to heavens.

As she stood there, she felt it, the power in her, locked, and she felt it breaking loose, and then the burning pain, just above her ears, and she fell it race through her body, free. And once the wind settled, she could hear a portion of the militia draw back…

Rosette pulled out her gun, checking for the amount of ammo still in it, and she looked at Chrono, who nodded his head quickly.

"When I say go," she whispered just loudly enough for him to hear, when their attention was drawn by Christopher, who now looked just a bit different.

Just above her ears were a pair of demonic horns, long and slender, protruding out of her hair, which was now a deep blood red all the way to the roots, and short, cut roughly at her chin, with one slim braid running down to the ground. She slowly held up her right arm, and they could see a frightening black aura twining up it, giving the pattern of snake scales delicately on her skin. But protruding out of her back were a pair of black wings, the feathers a deep coal that shimmered oddly in the light.

"What the…" Rosette trailed off, and then quickly shook her head, nodded to Chrono, and they darted into the fight, as Eamon and Rael began to fight, or rather Eamon dodge the blade of Rael.

Christopher had already quickly darted into the air, and her right arm shot out, sending a wave of the black energy out, hitting various demons, and then, a shock wave of fire sent many into a brilliant blaze. The air was filled with the sound of holy spirits as they collided with various demons, but it was a losing battle.

There were far too many demons, and no matter how many were burned, beaten, or shot, three more took their place for every one that fell. Azmaria stood there, doing her best to avoid the fight, as she was not the one for physically assaulting any demons. But it seemed the demons knew this, as many started advancing on the small girl, who was too far away from the door to head back in and hide. But help came from Christopher, as she landed gracefully in front of the girl, casting a glance back at the girl with pure red eyes with cat like slits for pupils. A odd mark ran down across her left eye, and Azmaria couldn't help but pull away slightly from the girl, who looked suddenly frightening, the dress she wore in tatters, and rather revealing, the middle of the bodice torn out and the skirt torn to above her knees and the arms and neck gone from the top.

"Are you alright?" Christopher asked quickly, and luckily her voice still remained the same, giving comfort to the young girl.

"Ah… yes… LOOK OUT!" she quickly pointed at one of the demons which had advanced quickly, hoping to take out Christopher so the girl would be an easy target. But Christopher swung her right arm, her claw like fingers digging into the demon's flesh, sending him flying into the air.

"Can you fight, or do anything?" Christopher growled as her right hand sent a stream of flames to engulf the demons that were still advancing…

Meanwhile, Eamon was battling with Rael, and was not winning. With no weapon to be seen, all he could do was dodge the sharp, thin blade as it cut into various parts of his body. But he was still fighting, that is, until he heard a nun scream, holding onto her arm which was bleeding ferociously. It was in that split second that he faltered, looking at the woman, worried, when he felt the blade plunge deep into his chest, right into his heart.

It was odd, all he felt was cold and his lungs refused to breathe as his heart failed, pumping the last of his blood out of his body. He sunk slowly to the ground, as though falling through water and blood filled his mouth, and slowly, his eyes darkened. He could barely feel the blade be pulled out, and the sound of laughter, and the last thing he heard was "So the great Israfel has fallen at last, that's what you get for becoming human…" and tears slowly fell from his eyes, landing softly on the ground.

Christopher noticed instantly, as she felt him die, and Azmaria noticed the girl falter, pulling back slightly, and saw the shock on her face.

"What?" Azmaria asked, worried.

"He's dying… Eamon's dying…" she heard her whisper and suddenly, Christopher felt weak, her knees giving out from under her, as she felt a burning pain stab through her heart, and she collapsed on the floor, a thick wave of energy seemed to explode off of her, sending a large portion of the demons into oblivion, suddenly falling into ash and being whipped into the air by the wind that issued from the girl.

Azmaria attempted to catch her, only slowing her fall. As she looked up, she clasped her hands to her chest, and with that, sang, hoping to heal the wounded, and maybe even stave off the demons that still fought with a blood thirsty lust.

The air was filled with the true notes of her voice that danced through the air.

They weaved in and out of the demons and humans alike, until finally settling on the dead Eamon, who lay sprawled on the grass, lying in a large pool of his blood. The moment the notes reached Rael, his smirk dropped, and yet again, disappeared in a flurry of feathers, many settling on Eamon, who, to anyone else, looked to be just sleeping.

But as the notes reached Eamon, he felt it, like a jolt of electricity, and then… darkness… but there was someone calling his name…

-Sorry this chapter so short, the next chapter will be longer, I promise. Thanks, and please review. Oh, and Eamon's not dead, and neither is Christopher.


	9. Slapping

(Somewhere in England, 16 years ago…)

Outside a large wood door a group of nuns and monks were clustered around a priest, who had an infant swaddled in rough bed clothes, the face covered by a long flap of rough cotton. The priest had his eyes turned downward to the small infant, his brown eyes looking at it tenderly.

"What are we going to do with it?" one nun asked, her voice hushed. Her eyes darted nervously to the baby, a look of terror in her sapphire eyes.

"Send it from this mortal coil, send it back to hell from where it came!" another nun replied, her voice full of venom and hatred for the infant child. But the priest quickly shook his head, giving the nuns an annoyed glance, and replied softly.

"This child has a human mother, who is lying spent and dead in that room," he pointed at the door that rested behind him, "Perhaps we can lift some of the sins off the child's soul, and give this infant a chance to find the Lord, our God," he replied, rocking the child in his arms. He nodded off to nuns and monks, and then softly made his way away from the room, where the child's mother lay dead.

One nun quietly opened the door, casting a glance at the women. The woman's body was pale, her hands resting on her chest, and the woman's auburn hair was plastered to her face, stuck from the sweat of labor. Slowly, the nun made her way to the side of the bed, and lifted one sheet quietly, placing it over the woman's face. As she made her way out, the nun paused at the door, crossed herself quickly and cast a sad glance at the woman.

"Poor thing, what did you do to curse your child like that?" she muttered softly, shaking her head as she closed the door quietly behind her…

(Back to the regular story line)

Christopher's eyes slowly flickered open, and she sat up, sore, her head pounding still from the fight, though what happened was nothing more then a blur of fire and darkness. What had happened? Pacing nervously near her was the young girl, Azmaria, her small pink flats tapping against the compact dirt of the garden.

Slowly, Christopher sat up, holding onto her head, her horns were gone, nothing but slight scars on the sides of her head, but she'd learned to ignore them after all those years. Her hair was back to it's original silky appearance and as she stood, the long strands cascaded down her small shoulders.

"You're awake!" the girl cried out, rushing over to her, worry etched on her youthful face.

"Hm… Oh… yes, I'm awake," she replied rather disconnectedly, looking around the mess and ruins. Dust and ash was scattered all over the ground, and coated almost everyone in greasy gray grains. She just sighed deeply, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, and tried with all her might to remember what happened, and then there was a pang in her chest.

It was a quick, burning sensation that seemed to well out of her heart, and she clutched her thin fingers to her heart, her breathing suddenly coming in quick gasps. Suddenly, with the sensation of falling into a cold lake, she remember. Eamon was dead… When she realized, the pain returned to her chest, only to quickly subside, leaving a cooling sensation as she leaning back, breathing somewhat heavily in exhaustion.

"Where is he?" she murmured, and quickly skipped over various unconscious priests and nuns, her bare feet skipping gracefully over the bloody dirt, as she searched for her partner.

He lay sprawled on the hard floor and just above his heart, his shirt was torn, blood staining the once white fabric, and pooling all around him. Far too much of the crimson blood was pooled, no human could survive it. Quietly, Christopher stepped forward, her small feet sending ripples though the large puddles of blood. Relief washed over her, though, as she suddenly saw that there was no wound on Eamon's body, under the large tear in his shirt, was nothing more then a fresh scar, the shiny, pale skin standing out in the harsh sun of the afternoon.

In all truth, the young man looked the same, but less worn… and oddly, in a way Christopher could not describe, different. He seemed to almost glow in the dim light and for once he seemed peaceful, no look of worry or tension marred his face. In one swift moment, she knelt next to him, resting his hands on his face, wishing and hoping he would wake. In those moments of tension, she forgot where she was, she forgot that she was kneeling in a pool of blood, that they had just fought Rael, that many people had just barely escaped death. All that mattered was Eamon and him waking up.

"Eamon…Eamon… please…. Just wake up… don't die too…" she whispered, shaking him gently by the shoulders while her own twitched as she held back the salty tears that stung her eyes like a thousand small needles.

"Mphf… please… stop shaking me…"

Christopher nearly dropped the young man back onto the ground when me spoke, but still embraced him, tears already rolling down her cheeks.

"That's sweet," Rosette murmured as she finished tying off the bandages she had wrapped around her upper right arm, grimacing from the quick jolts of pain that shot up her slender limbs.

"Yeah…" her partner Chrono replied softly, looking at the two. Christopher was strongly embracing the young man, her face nuzzled up to his neck, tears already pooling in the hollow of his neck.

"Shh… it's allright, just please stop crying…" Eamon whispered gently to the girl, who still fiercely clung to him, her fingers clutching deep into his shirt, letting the thick cotton gather under her fingers. Her hair fell across his face, and the smells of sandalwood, roses, and soap seemed to dance around him. He wished for a moment that he could just remain in her arms, breathing in her soft scent.

"I will… just as soon as I can…" she sobbed into his ear. Eamon sighed, placing his hands on her arms gently, sighing, enjoying the few moments of rest that he could. After this fight, nothing would be the same for either of them.

Just after the fight with Rael… where he died, he heard a voice, someone singing, a pure voice, and it seemed to call him back to the shores of life, but that alone wasn't it. Something happened that wasn't supposed to happen. The seal broke, and he could feel it, he had gained back his powers.

Slowly, Christopher stood, wiping the tears off her face with the back of one hand, letting the tears slowly drip down her hands instead. Eamon slowly took in his partner, standing there in the remnants of her dress, sniffling slightly, her nose rosy from crying.

"You… You… YOU JERK!" she stammered, finally shouting out the last part, anger welling up out of her, her right hand quickly flying forward, striking Eamon across his face.

"Don't you ever do that again!" she cried out, rushing back to him and into his arms, and soon she was crying. Eamon was standing there, slightly confused, his face red from the slap, but he just smiled gratefully, casting his eyes down at the girl, and it was the first time anybody noticed an odd change. His eyes were now a bright sapphire blue, and caught the light beautifully, as though they really were jewels.

And slowly, the sun emerged from behind it's cloud, filling the scene. Christopher was clutching Eamon to her, her head resting on his strong shoulder. Eamon merely resting his head upon hers, smiling down at her tenderly, his eyes closed gently, and briefly, they were at peace…

Sorry this chapter is just a bit short, but there will be longer one's coming up, it just seemed the perfect spot to end the chapter. Don't worry, Christopher and Eamon will be commin' back! Boo-yah!


	10. Crimson Tears

Christopher slowly rummaged through her trunk, looking for another outfit to wear. She ended up pulling out one of her new dresses, a plain outfit that befitted anyone who lived in a monastery.

The first thing she pulled on was her only silk slip, a well worn cream colored slip given to her from a nun who had grown out of it. The lace around the hem and neckline was worn and has too many holes to count. She smoothed the silk under her finger, and pulled the zipper to its end right under her arm and caused the dress to hug her small form, though it still remained too big around her tiny hips.

Suddenly, someone knocked on her door, causing her to start.

"Ah… Just a moment!" she cried out, first pulling on the gray wool pencil skirt that fell respectively to her ankles. Next she shoved her arms through the soft cotton blouse's arms, and quickly weaving the small, mother of pearl buttons through the thin eyelets.

The blouse was only buttoned to just above her chest, leaving her collarbone and thin neck exposed. Her skirt was rumpled to her knees, but she didn't care, as she hurriedly made her way to the door, her bare feet skipping across the hard wood. Her hands clasped around the brass knob, and she deftly twisted it, pulling the cheap wood door open.

Rosette stood on the other side, her hands resting solidly on her hips. The light from the window slots behind her lit her golden hair up brilliantly, and one could be fooled into thinking that she wore a halo. Christopher smiled slightly at the nun, but the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, as though she didn't feel like smiling.

"Sister Rosette, by what means are you calling upon me?" she asked formally, making sure not to keep eye contact with the nun, her emotions hidden by the placid mask she wore.

"Uh… They're holding a mass for those injured and in the infirmary, I was wondering if you were going to attend," Rosette quickly replied as she cast her eyes up and down on the body of Christopher.

"A mass, I will be there, as soon as I am fully dressed," Christopher replied softly, her voice held low, remaining at its same demure tone of a content housewife for the entire of her talk.

"Fine, I'll head down with you," Rosette replied cheerfully, walking into the room and closing the door behind her, the hand clicking as its notch fell into place.

"If that is what you wish," was Christopher's plain reply. She made her way to the bed, sitting down carefully, pulling on the thin nylons, carefully making sure the seam always stayed far to the back of her thin calves, resting in an immaculately straight line. For a moment, she ceased her quick movements, as she though back into the past.

(4 years into the past)

"But Sister Mary, I don't like these," a young girl whined, as she weakly tossed a pair of nylons into a dark corner of the cold room.

The girl was 12 years old, with soft auburn hair that fell to her waist, and about six inched down the long locks, the hair turned a brilliant scarlet, the tips curling slightly. She looked up at the nun in front of her with brilliant ruby eyes.

"Listen, Christopher, you are coming into age, tomorrow we will go into the town and buy you some dresses, and those will last you until you are old enough to leave the monastery, and rid us of your hellish curse," the nun replied forcefully, tossing the thin nylons back at the girl, who caught them half-heartedly, and sighed, pulling them on.

"Put them on right, Christopher, you have to make sure that you put them on right," the nun spat at her, and roughly grabbed her legs, twisting the tights around roughly, until the hems were resting on the back of her calves.

(Back to the present)

"Are you done yet?" Rosette asked, casting a quick glance at the girl, who just sighed, and stood, smoothing out her skirt and pulling a plain pair of gray flats.

"Yes, Sister Rosette," Christopher replied softly, walking over to the door while pulling her hair back with a thin twine tie.

The two quietly made their way to the large congregation room, and the sound of idle chatter and prayer reached their ears first. Placed outside the doors were small steel bowls, filled with holy water. They were held up by stone carvings of angels, their head bend over the bowls, their arms outstretched.

As everyone walked in, they dipped their fingers into the water, and with the same hand, made the sign on the cross, wetting their foreheads, hearts, and shoulders. And slowly, the two made their way to the bowls, and each stopped.

Rosette dipped her fingers in and slowly, almost reverently made the sign of the cross. But Christopher's fingers hovered over the smooth surface of the blessed water, the image of her hand reflecting on the water's surface. She closed her eyes tightly and sucked in a quick breath as she dipped her fingers in, and quickly made the sign of the cross. After that, she let her right arm hang at her side, and slowly her fingers curled into a fist, but to anyone looking hard enough, blood was dripping off the thin digits.

As she walked in, she looked for people she knew, and saw Eamon, Rosette, Chrono and the girl Azmaria, all sitting happily in a random pew that was close to the marble alter. Quietly Christopher made her way to them, her skirt only rustling slightly. She looked down at the ground as she made her way to the pew, afraid to look at the crucifix, and instead, kept her eyes at her right arm, which was stiff, the muscles in her arm tense and twitching. Blood was dripping off the fingers along with small bits of skin, and for a moment, she flexed her hand out, looking at the skin, which was suddenly and horribly burned, the flesh around it red and angry.

"Christopher!" Eamon called out softly, motioning for her to come quickly, as mass was about to start.

She just nodded her head to him, sitting down between him and Chrono, who just looked at her oddly, before looking back at the priest and deacon, who began the ceremony by ringing the chapel bells.

Christopher groaned softly as the sounds echoed through her head, setting her head on fire. She could have sworn that she would die, but instead she felt something wet dribble out of both ears. Still, she sat upright, her eyes squeezed shut in pain, but it only got worse. The holy incense that filled the room made her very nose bleed, and then, they began to read from the holy book.

It was the last straw, as she suddenly stood up and with surprising speed, darted out of the room and into the nearest room, a large storage room. Steam was rising off her, and blood was pouring out of her nose, and dribbling down her neck from her ears. Her eyes were blood shot, her skin pale. She lay crumpled against a shelf, the door left slightly ajar. She could just barely hear the holy scriptures, but even that burned her ears, making her head ache and feel as though millions of needles were jabbing her very skull.

"Why… why me? What did I do?" she moaned, placing her hands on over her ears, ignoring the pain flooding from the burnt hand. She squeezed her eyes shut as she rocked back and forth, tears slowly falling off her face. Slowly, she remembered to the first time this had happened.

_(Back 6 years in the past)_

"I don't know what happened to the girl," A young nun cried out, holding onto the small form a girl. Blood was dripping off her body from her nose, ears, eyes and mouth, staining the wood deep crimson. Her hands and forehead were burned, small scraps of skin falling off, landing in the pools of crimson that gathered on the floor.

"This child is cursed! Father Thompson, I will only tell you once more. You asked for my advice, it is to send the girl back to her father, Lucifer, she does not belong here with mortals!" An old nun cried out, gesturing at the girl, fear in her eyes.

"It is not the child's fault, send her to the infirmary to be treated for the wounds, Sister Catherine," the young priest replied, motioning to the nun, who carried the girl away quietly.

"She has his mark on her skin! She is only a curse upon those around her!" the old nun replied gruffly, closing the door behind her.

"She has a right to salvation, and you know this," the priest replied, but he sighed, placing his hand on the window in front of him, "The girl has not had an easy life, but she is a good child," he replied.

"Bah, that's what you always say, she's no better then Him, the Dark One," the nun replied, and made her way out.

"Please, try to be nicer to the girl, she's already had a hard life," the priest pleaded softly to the nun's retreating back, knowing that it was useless. He saw too many masses to count in the girl's future. "Poor child…" he sighed, sitting back down in his chair.

(Back into present times)

Chrono was the first to leave from the mass, as he was out as soon as it finished, but it was not anxiety to leave the mass that fueled him. He had seen the girl's bleeding hand and ears, and was worried.

Slowly, followed by his friends and Eamon, they began to search for the girl. It was Eamon who found her, as he opened the door to the storage room the remaining way, to see Christopher, crumpled on the floor, her back against the support beams of the shelves that filled the room. Dried blood was caked on her face, neck and hands, while fresh still seeped from her nose, ears, fingers, and now from her eyes, dribbling out the sides and down her face like scarlet tears.

"Christopher?" Eamon asked gently, making his way to the girl, but it was useless. Her eyes were turned upward and her muscles twitched in pain and his words didn't even seem to reach her ears.

"Christopher!" he cried out, a bit more forcefully this time, grabbing her by the shoulders, and quickly he shook her, hoping to wake her. And slowly, she came to, her eyes settling on him finally, after scanning the room wildly.

"E…Eamon?" she asked quietly, her voice just barely escaping her lips.

"Christopher!" he cried out happily, pulling the girl to his chest, clutching onto her happily. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I found her!" He cried out happily as he tenderly wiped the blood off her face.

"Where?" Rosette called back, as the three of them quickly made their way to the storage closet, to find the two.

"Wha… What happened?" Azmaria cried out, rushing over to Christopher.

"I don't entirely know…" Eamon sighed as he tried to wipe the blood off her face, feverently trying to wet the thin cloth to get clean off the dry crud.

"Was it the holy incense, and water, and… and…" Azmaria trailed off as she looked at Chrono, who was staring intently at the girl, oblivious to the girl's gaze.

"But… it hasn't affected Chrono, and she's a demon, too?" Rosette murmured, placing a hand thoughtfully under her chin, trying to figure out the enigma that this girl was.

"Well, in truth, I don't know. I heard she had a human mother they weren't sure, she didn't live long enough for them to ask," he trailed off, before quickly beginning to wipe the girl's face.

"I don't entirely know a lot about her, just that my friend, a priest at the monastery she was staying at, well, he just said she would be a good partner for me," Eamon sighed, finally giving up trying to wash her off. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, weakly, like butterfly wings.

"E… Eamon?" her voice came out rough at first, but slowly became sweeter, and as she spoke she slowly got up, weakly at first, her legs shaking unsurely as she stood, wiping the fresh blood off her face.

"What… what happened?" she asked, her voice even sounding unsure.

"You… don't remember?" Eamon asked, watching the girl calmly wipe off her blood.

"Oh… the mass…"

"Why did that happen?" Rosette asked, though her voice demanded an answer.

"You mean the bleeding? I don't entirely know why, the nuns just told me because I was a terrible sinner," she replied sadly, tying a handkerchief she had produced from the pockets of her dress, around her hand.

"Just how much demon are you?" Chrono asked, grabbing gently onto her uninjured hand.

"Me? I don't really know, the priests guessed I was only half… but…" she looked away, cleaning off the last of the blood.

"Ever since I was young there was something wrong with me. I can't be anywhere near holy things, or else I bleed. Holy water burns, crucifixes make my eyes bleed, incense caused nosebleeds, and holy bells… the pain is indescribable. What's worse is blessed food, it turns to ash, and my mouth is ruined for weeks," she explained, sighing as she looked over at Eamon.

"But… I'm used to this, I've been to thousands of masses, each more painful then the last," she whispered, before leaving, heading out to the courtyard…

There we go! Yipee! I love this story for some odd reason.


	11. Sunshine and Bliss

"Wait!" Eamon raced out after her, followed quickly by his new found friends. Christopher stood in the center, next to the small fountain, the cool air teased at her hair and dress, and she looked over her shoulder at them.

"What do you want? Bugger off," she shot back softly, but eyes told a different story. She was lonely, Eamon could see it.

"What do you mean 'a terrible sinner'?" Rosette asked, walking over to the girl first.

"When I was born, there was mark running across my right eye and they told me it was mark of Lucifer, the fallen angel. I've learned to hide the mark, my horns, my wings, but…" she trailed off.

"But what?" Azmaria asked timidly, looking up at the girl.

"I was born with sins that I can't repent for…" Christopher replied as she cast a look over at Chrono.

"Surely you understand, I've heard of your story…" she trailed off as the demon looked away uncomfortably from the girl's gaze.

"Aww…." Eamon moaned, and then pulled Christopher in a large hug, her body stiff from shock. "You poor, poor thing!" he cried out, comically hugging her, breaking the dark, melancholy mood.

"Get off of me, bloody Yankee," she muttered, shoving Eamon off her roughly, but he could see she was smiling slightly.

"It's a beautiful day, just look at that sun, we should go somewhere," Rosette suddenly said, grinning at the four, flashing her pearly whites.

"What? Now?" Christopher asked, pulling away slightly.

"Yeah, there's some beautiful country side around here, let's go check it out!" she cried out, grabbing onto Christopher's hand, pulling her away to one of the cars parked outside.

"But… but…" it was useless, no matter how much Christopher struggled, she soon found herself smooshed between Chrono and Azmaria, Eamon had grabbed shotgun, and Rosette was happily driving, humming some unknown, just thought up tune.

Christopher sighed, resting her forehead against the thick pane of glass, her ruby eyes watching the countryside rush past. Soon, Azmaria was humming the infective tune Rosette had thought up, and as soon as Eamon joined in the car was filled with the vibrating sounds of three people humming, while she and Chrono remained silent, annoyed slightly, but secretly enjoying themselves.

"Where exactly are we going, you deranged nun?" Christopher suddenly asked, trying to reach forward to see them.

"What'd I say! I'll tell you when we get there!" Rosette hollered back, though it really wasn't necessary in the small automobile. "And I'm not deranged!" Her eyes seemed to flare with demonic fire in her sudden rage.

"Sure, that's what they all say…" Christopher muttered, resuming her window gazing, already bored, and now thinking back onto her life.

"Christopher?" Azmaria asked quietly, looking up over silently at the girl.

Casually, Christopher glanced over at the pale girl, her hair falling over one shoulder. Not wanting to seem cold, she tried her hardest to smile at the young girl, but it came out slightly weak, watered down from the tears she kept inside.

"Yes, Azmaria?" Christopher asked softly, staring at the girl's large eyes.

"I'm sorry…" she replied, looking tenderly at the girl. Upon hearing this, Chrono looked over at as Azmaria's small hands grasped Christopher's scarred ones.

"Sorry for what? My curse? You had nothing to do with it, so don't feel sorry for me, I don't need your pity," Christopher replied briskly, looking away.

_(Back in Christopher's Past)_

_Christopher sat awkwardly in the chair in front of the one of her few friends at the convent, Brother Bryan, a young man, still on his way to becoming a priest. He tugged at the clasp for his brown cloak nervously, looking at the girl sadly._

_"Tomorrow, they're sending me to another convent," he announced, looking away, as though afraid to meet the girl's eyes._

_"You're WHAT!" Christopher cried out, pulling away from the young man, surprised and somewhat angry._

_"You're leaving?" she rushed out her chair to stand in front of the young man, holding her hands to her chest, tears brimming in her ruby eyes._

_"Christopher, I leave tonight… But I wanted to tell you something… I am so sorry that this had to happen," he muttered into her ears, but Christopher pulled away, somewhat horrified. _

_"No… you said you'd never say that! Don't!" she cried out._

_"Say what?" Bryan asked, looking over at her, confused to no end._

_"STOP IT! I don't need pity! Especially not from you!" Christopher cried out, rushing out of the room. So much pity, she saw it everywhere, but it never brought her any good, nothing but pity-filled looks, and scared expressions. She slid down the wall, holding her head, trying to figure out her emotions._

_"I don't need your pity… I'm fine… I'm not a pity case…" she muttered, rocking back and forth against the wall. _

_(Back to present times!)_

"Ahhh!" Rosette sighed, getting out of the large car, kicking the door open happily. Her arms were stretched above her head and they had reached their destination.

A gently sloping hill reached to the pale blue sky, as thick white clouds floated slowly across the large blue expanse. The wind rushed through the emerald blades of grass, filling the swirling wind with the sound of rustling. Clumps of colorful wildflowers pockmarked the hills.

Happily, the companions made their way to the hill, falling back onto the lush carpet of green. Even Christopher couldn't help but smile as the warm air brushed across her skin, making her still slightly charred hair swirl high above her and play across her face.

"It's breathtaking, little miss exorcist!" Eamon cried out cheerfully, twirling cheerfully, his now blue eyes set upon the surprisingly clear sky.

"I must admit, it's nothing like back home," Christopher replied quietly, sighing as the warm sun washed across her.

"Yeah, it's pretty, isn't it?" Rosette replied happily, plopping down onto the grass next to Christopher, smiling over at the girl.

Rosette didn't know why, but the girl reminded her of Joshua. That hopelessness in her eyes reminded her of the day they met Chrono for the first time, the helpless tone in Joshua's voice when he lamented of his powers, and lack of strength.

"Yes…. Thanks, Rosette," Christopher breathed softly, closing her eyes gently.

"Ya know what this day needs?" Eamon asked, looking over at Chrono with a big grin on his face.

"I don't know… what?" Azmaria asked, looking over at the young man.

"A song… here…" He grinned happily, before taking in a deep breath, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. And with that, he began to sing.

His voice was amazing, every note perfectly in tune. The warm air seemed to let the notes carry farther then normal. Everyone, including Azmaria, found themselves speechless, staring at Eamon as he sung his tune in a sweet voice.

"None sing so wildly well as the angel Israfel…" at those first lines of the song, Rosette found herself shocked and even Chrono cast an odd glance at Eamon as he continued, keeping them held in rapture by his voice.

"And the giddy stars (so legends tell) ceasing their hymns, attend the spell of his voice all mute," Christopher looked at the young man, her partner, his eyes closed as he continued to sing, but as he did, it was surprising.

"Tottering above in her highest noon, the enamored moon blushes with love," the sun broke through the clouds, filling the hills with light, the grass seemed to turn into a soft mint green and all the colors seemed whitewashed, the hues were turned into pastels.

"Yes, heaven is thine, but this is a world of sweet and sours," but he stopped for a moment, his lips closing for a brief second before he started, though they did not know what caused him to falter, but he was joined in by everyone else, their voices mingling in a cheerful medley.

"Our flowers are merely flowers, and the shadow of they perfect bliss, is the sunshine of ours," they finished, all smiling happily in the sun; the clouds had fled from the baby blue blanket of the sky.

"I didn't know you could sing," Christopher muttered, standing up while brushing the stray strands of grass off the hem of her skirt.

"That was… amazing…" Azmaria breathed quietly, looking up at Eamon with admiration.

"Thanks," Eamon replied cheerfully, rubbing the back of his head, running his fingers through his messy hair.

"Where did you learn that song?" Rosette demanded, looking over at Eamon with shock.

"I heard it a while ago, an old friend of mine used to sing it," he replied, looking off into the horizon, staring off at something none of them could see.

"It's just… my brother and I used to sing that…" Rosette murmured and she looked slightly depressed, but she suddenly burst back into her old smiling self.

"It's very poetic," Christopher sighed, before thinking things over and muttering, "Poe."

"You're such a talented singer!" Azmaria exclaimed, clapping her small hands together. Eamon looked over, his hair being brushed away from his face by the zephyrs that swirled around the five.

"I think I said this already, but thanks!" Eamon replied grinning cheerfully, looking over at Christopher. She smiled reluctantly, the corners of her mouth twitched for a moment, before she reluctantly smiled somewhat shyly.

Relaxed, the group slowly reclined back onto the grassy knoll and was soon all sighing blissfully in the summer air. In their idleness, their minds began to wander back to the past, or mull over things in the present. Slowly, Rosette looked over at Eamon, curious.

"Eamon, why did your eyes turn blue?" Rosette asked softly, staring at the now baby blue eyes of the young man, who was still staring at the clouds that floated across the sky.

"That's a long story, but in a way, it's all thanks to you, Miss. Azmaria," he replied, his words carried about by the eddies of wind that danced around the exorcists.

"Me?" she asked unsurely, pointing at herself with a pale, thin hand.

"Yes you, Miss. Songstress," he replied happily, falling happily back onto grass, his hair spreading across the lush blades of grass.

"How?" Azmaria asked, gaining confidence as she spent more time with the young man.

"That's for another time, really," Eamon replied quickly, closing his own eyes, letting the sun wash his skin with peaceful warmth. As he closed his eyes he could hear it so much clearer. The voices. Thousands of voices, singing, praying, all were filling his head, echoing in his ears. Prayers in Latin, in Spanish, in English, in French, and many other languages, and he could understand it all.

"Ugh…" Eamon quickly sat up, grasping his head with rough hands.

Almost instantly, Christopher was kneeling next to him, clutching her hands tight to her chest, worried.

"Eamon! Eamon! What's going on?" Christopher cried out, her voice wrought with worry.

"Eamon… are you okay?" Azmaria inquired timidly, resting her small hands on his head, trying to figure out just what was going on as his breathing became frantic.

Suddenly Eamon started to mutter quickly in some odd language that no one knew, his words slurred and graceful, but as he did, Christopher began to wince, and she let forward a quiet groan of pain as blood began to drip out of her ears, the words sending shudders down her back.

"Christopher? Eamon? Are you alright!" Azmaria suddenly cried out, looking over at Christopher, and soon the entire group was staring at the two new exorcists. And just as it always is, when you think things can't get any worst, something happened and they got an unexpected visitor….

Thanks! I'm so amazed that you all think that this is such a well written fic! But it adds so much stress onto me! But it makes me happy to get all of that praise! I feel so unworthy! sighs but thanks! Next chappy is coming up soon!


	12. Gabriel & Lucifer

The visitor had made his way from the other hill, and it was only then that they had noticed him. He was tall and graceful, with long hair the color of ripe wheat, and pulled back at the nape of neck and braided to keep it out of his face.

"Good afternoon," he called out in a gentle voice as he continued to walk forward, his tan shoes making scarcely a noise in the tall grass that lushly covered the hill.

Dressed plainly, he wore long khaki slacks and the hems gathered and rested on the tops of his nice shoes, boots. Covering his chest was a loose, white shirt, the neck unbuttoned and his tie hanging limply from his neck.

"Who are you?" Chrono called out, worried that this might mean some trouble, his eyes resting on the sheathed sword that hung from the man's right hip.

"A friend, my name is Gabriel," he called back as he got closer, and they could see his eyes were the same baby blue as Eamon's, and they were filled with worry and sadness.

"Mr. Gabriel, could you please help our friends?" Azmaria asked timidly, looking over at the tall man, who smiled good naturedly at her.

"That is not why I am here, but I do have time… What's this?" he looked over at Christopher, and gently reached forward, touching her face gently, but almost immediately, pulled his fingers away and stared at them. They were red and burned and so was the part of Christopher's face that he touched.

"So you are the child?" he asked quietly, then let his hand just barely touch the top of her head and muttered quietly under his breath something that they couldn't understand in the same language that Eamon was muttering and with a small flash of light that came from his outstretched hand, Christopher fell backwards, unconscious and running across her right eye, they could see an odd black mark.

"Brother…" Gabriel murmured quietly, kneeling in front of Eamon.

He placed his fingers under Eamon's chin, and pulled his face up so he could see it. Slowly, Eamon's hands fell away from his ears and he looked at Gabriel with eyes that seemed to be glazed by a fever.

"G…Gabriel…?' he asked quietly as the words seemed to tumble clumsily off his lips.

"Brother, we've missed you," Gabriel whispered, his forehead resting on Eamon's, which was oddly cool to his touch.

"What… what's happening…to…me?" Eamon gasped out, looking up at Gabriel, oblivious to the Chrono, Rosette and Azmaria, all who were oddly quiet, knowing that they should remain quiet.

"Nothing bad… Israfel… I am here to deliver a message… You have been awakened; you wings have been won… I must leave… take care of the child called Christopher," he whispered into Eamon's ear and after smiling at him stood up and looked over at the other three exorcists. "Farewell, though we will meet again" he waved his hand, before walking off, and the moment they could no longer see him, it had seemed he had just disappeared.

Eamon suddenly started to weakly laugh, his breathing beginning to slow back to it's original rate, before suddenly falling back into the grass, sprawled out, his eyes closed slowly, and he was already heavily asleep.

"What was that?" Rosette demanded, waving her hands over to where the man named Gabriel had disappeared off to.

"How would I know?" Chrono snapped back, already quickly annoyed.

"You should know!" Rosette bellowed back, glaring at the two who were huddled behind her…

'_Where am I?'_

_Frantically, Christopher looked around in the area she had suddenly found herself stuck in. She could feel something below here, a floor she guessed, but everything else was dark and smelled heavily of cedar, the overpowering scent flooded around her, making her feel like she was drowning. A dim red light shimmered to her left, but it did nothing but give her the feeling that she was being watched. _

_"I've waited so long to see you…" Someone spoke, the voice rich and deep, sounding almost like velvet. Christopher spun around, looking frantically for the speaker, but found nothing. Her heart beat painfully in her ribcage and she felt like it was liable to burst out at any moment. _

"WHO ARE YOU!" Christopher suddenly screamed, her still unconscious body writhing in fear. Chrono swiftly grabbed onto her small shoulders, forcing her body to remain still.

"What's happening now? Who is she talking to?" Rosette asked as she pulled Eamon off the grass and slung his light body onto her back, his arms dangling annoying close to her chest.

"I don't know… she just screamed it out!" Chrono replied, exasperated, as he gently picked Christopher and slung her over his own back and she suddenly grasped onto his body, her fingers clawing at his arms and chest…

_"Someone's here! I know it! Show yourself!" Christopher cried out, spinning around rapidly, squinting in the dim red light. _

_"You are indeed as beautiful at your mother..." the voice added tenderly and she could hear someone walking and she guessed they wore wood heeled shoes by the hollow noise that flooded the dark area she was stuck in…_

"There!" Rosette groaned as she somewhat carelessly threw Eamon into the back of the car and motioned for Chrono to do the same. Curtly, he nodded, and gently lowered the shaking girl into the car next to Eamon and sat down next to her, slamming the door shut behind him.

_"How do you know my mum?" she cried out into the aimless dark, tears beginning to well up in her eyes as she tried to fight the terror that filled her body, causing it to shake furiously. _

_"I am your father, Christopher…" the voice replied and he stepped forward into the dim crimson light, and she could see him now…_

"Alright, lets get them back to the convent," Rosette muttered as she turned the ignition key swiftly as Azmaria pulled the safety belt over her small body and nodded quickly, looking back at Chrono, who nodded, his hands still resting on Christopher's shoulders as he tried to keep her body from shaking… it wasn't working.

_The man who appeared was tall, that was for sure. Easily taller then six feet, with a slim body with long, spindly legs, he stood nonchalantly without a care in the world in front of her. His eyes were two different colors, one a cold ice blue and the other was pure black, gazing at her calculatingly. His skin was tanned and contrasted oddly with his hair, which was a silver blonde that slowly shaded down to black at the tips. Slowly he pushed his long bangs out of his face and smiled at her warmly, and she could see the mark that ran across her right eye ran across his too… Lucifer's mark. _

_"Who are you?" Christopher demanded as her long fingers curled into fists. _

_"Who am I? Like I said, I am you father," he replied, laughing softly at her, but no warmth from the laugh reached his eyes. _

_"Bollocks, my father's a demon," she replied angrily, trying to walk away from him but found that her legs no longer obeyed her._

Christopher's body finally stopped shaking around the time they reached the convent. Instead, her body stiffened for a brief instant, her fingers grasping frantically for something and finally closed upon Chrono's braid.

"Ack!" His head was suddenly pulled down to her shoulder and she yanked it hard and held it to her chest.

"What happened?" Rosette looked back at Chrono frantically tried to pull is head away from her but only caused his scalp to cry out for him to stop. Giving up finally, he sighed, rolling his eyes heaven ward as Azmaria tried to hold back her laughter.

_"What? Can't move?" he asked innocently, walking forward to her. _

_"What did you do, you bloody arse!" she cried out, frantically trying to move away as he got closer._

_"What a mouth!" he laughed cruelly before finally stopping right in front of her, resting his hand under her thin chin. _

_"Who are you…? What's your name?" she asked, glaring at him, trying to keep him away. _

_"My name? I am Lucifer, head of the fallen angels… your friends want you back… but we will talk again… rest assured of that…" he muttered as he faded away, his words echoing before she suddenly felt tugged back to the present. _

Confused and breathless, Christopher's eyes snapped open and she looked down to see that for some reason, she had clutched Chrono's purple braid to her chest and he was stuck with his head resting on her hip, sighing as a blush ran across his face.

"Chrono? Oh!" she let go of the braid quickly and covered her mouth, embarrassed, "I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," he muttered as he tenderly touched his scalp and sighed deeply.

"You're awake!" Azmaria suddenly cried out, looking over at Christopher, who looked around. She was sitting in the convent's parking lot, the car's engine finally stopping.

"We're back at the convent… what happened? I remember Eamon muttering something… then…" she stopped, thinking back on just what had happened to her, then remembered just what the young man in that dark place had said.

"What happened? You were screaming something," Christopher looked over at Chrono as he asked her this and she thought about it for a moment before realized just what had happened. Quickly all the color drained from her cheeks as she suddenly sat up straight, as though electrified and nearly screamed. Her hands shot up to her face and attempted to stay calm.

"What's wrong?" Rosette asked as she pulled the door open on Eamon's side and proceeded to heft the young man onto her back to carry him into the convent.

"Good Lord…" she grasped onto her head, wanting to cry but no tears would come. What was she? Daughter of Lucifer! This couldn't be! Angrily she shoved past Chrono and ran into the main church congregation and made her way into confessional chamber and fell into the chair that sat next the screen where a priest would normally sit… but there was nobody in that room except Christopher, and then she began to cry…

There we go, end of another chapter, but it's so easy to write because I need to get the character's stories out. But in case you couldn't tell, I was watching Star Wars… so that explains the clichéd line. Thanks for the reviews, to those of you who did, and until next time. Cheerio.


	13. Maria

Christopher lay crumpled in the confessional chamber, grasping desperately at the sides of her head, keeping her eyes far from the cross on the other side of the room. What had just happened to her… What was she?

"Oh Father, our Lord," she whispered to the empty room, tears rolling down her face and falling onto the rough carpet of the room. "What did I ever do wrong? Why must I be so cursed?"

"What happened?" A kind male voice asked as she heard someone step into the other side of the chamber, behind the screen.

Surprised, Christopher looked around until she found the source of the voice, the young man's face hidden by the thick wood screen to her left.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly, her voice hoarse from crying.

"I am Father Remington, a friend of Sister Rosette and Chrono… What were you crying about?" he replied gently as the wood groaned. He was leaning against the thin oak siding, covering his eyes with gloved hands.

"My own wretched body…"

"Your what?" Father Remington suddenly looked over, worried that the girl might try to do something drastic.

"When I was born… they wished nothing but death upon me and it still hasn't changed. I was born with sins I can't repent for. I bleed, I die in holy places…" she was soon sobbing, crumpled on the floor, her skirt folding around her messily.

"Why is that?" he then replied, intrigued, wondering about this odd girl.

"Because… I don't know… forgive father for the sins I have done…"

"You… are forgiven my child," Father Remington replied, his voice honestly sincere. Oh how did he wish this poor girl's suffering would end, he thought as he closed his eyes, listening to her sob herself to a quiet slumber…

Chrono groaned as he quickly carried Eamon to his room as the young man seemed to get heavier as he took each step before he finally reached the room and grasped the brass knob. Deftly, he turned it and threw the cheap door open. After he placed Eamon onto the thin cotton filled mattress and made his way out and slammed the door shut.

_"Israfel!" a voice cried out and Eamon spun around quickly to see a young woman. She was kneeling down in pale green grass, the golden sunlight shining against her skin that was as pale as alabaster, her lips standing out like garnets. _

_"Maria," he whispered breathlessly, looking at the woman like she was a ghost. _

_She was small, dressed in a deep indigo dress that was made of rough, hand woken cotton. A heavy white head scarf covered the top of her hair and wrapped around her just under her chin. Soft waves of auburn hair tumbled out from under the scarf and gently were teased from the soft breeze that filled the warm summer day. _

_"I was worried you would have to leave me again," she replied softly, her small hands slipping into his and she gently tugged him down. _

_"Maria?" He asked, unsure of what to make of this girl who began to laugh, her bright green eyes crinkling in mirth. _

_"Of course, silly, are you going to get in trouble?" Maria whispered playfully as he fell onto one knee, noticing that he wore heavy white robes instead of his normal slacks and oxford shirt. _

_"With who?" Eamon cocked his head at her, trying to figure out what she was talking about. _

_"Azrael, Michael, the rest of the Angels," she replied shyly tugging at his long red pony tail. _

_"What?" Eamon asked, confused when he suddenly felt pain streak through his back. _

The world Eamon saw slowly dissolved into darkness as he sat up in his bed, cold sweat dripping off his face and falling silently onto the rough cotton sheets of his bed. The sun filtered into the room in hues of grays and silver through the slats in the wooden shutters.

Pain streaked through his body, his body going rigid for an instant as his muscles cried out in agony. Hunched over on the mattress, his arms wrapped around himself, his fingers desperately clawing at his back, wishing the pain away, he tried to scream but found himself unable.

Something moved under his skin, it felt like bones. His skin stretched painfully on his back and he could feel that something was about to break out. In a spray of crimson, two large white wings burst from his back. They tore through his shirt, leaving shreds of cloth to float damply to the ground, heavy with his blood.

Gasping for air like a fish out of water, he lay sprawled on the bed, his wings folded around him like wet blankets, the feather matted. Tears gathered in his eyes but they would not fall.

"What…" he groaned, getting off the wet mattress slowly and cast his eyes to the mirror across from his bed and stared at the reflection.

Amid the blood still racing down the slick, silver side of the mirror he could see himself. He was pale, his hair hung around his face limply, and no life could be found in it. Large white wings, stained with red, were folded around his body.

'I hope no one comes in….' he thought, oddly detached from what just happened….

Slowly, her feet just barely making any noise, Christopher made her way to the inside garden of the somewhat modern monastery. Gently she pushed the door open, walking out into the still harsh light and her feet weaved nimbly though the plants and weeds that were abundant on the soft dirt paths that weaved around the small garden. She sighed silently to herself as she looked around the foliage to see Rosette sitting happily on one of the stone benches the dotted the area.

"Rosette!" Christopher waved her hand to the blonde nun, who looked up, obviously startled as the girl made her way to her.

"Hi, Christopher," Rosette replied, her hand over her heart as though she was trying to steady it.

"Sorry if I scared you…" Christopher nodded her head to the nun apologetically and wiped the remainder of her tears out of her ruby colored eyes.

"Were you crying?" Rosette asked, making room for Christopher to sit down next to her.

"I… ah…" Christopher looked away, ashamed, "Yes."

"Why?" she asked as Christopher sat down on the floor next to the bench and upturned her face to try and catch the sun that drifted down from the heavens.

"Just… It's so nice to be here, and to have people not judge me," Christopher replied happily, counting her blessings.

_"Christopher! Why are you crying, silly girl!" a soft male voice chastised the young teen who was crumpled at the foot of the statue of the virgin mother Mary. Blood ran down her face and off her hands which she had clasped over her eyes. _

_"It can't get any worse, why I am cursed? Why did my mum do this to me?" Christopher asked, looking up at the face of the young priest who sighed, sitting down in front of her, his legs tucked under his thin form. _

_"Listen, just remember, if things get so bad, there will always be people who have it worse than you. Count your blessings, Christopher…"_

Christopher sighed, holding out her hand in front of her and held out three fingers and a thumb. Intently she began to stare at the large doors to the headquarters, and bit her lip.

"What are you doing?" Rosette suddenly asked, looking at Christopher who was again staring intently at her fingers.

"Counting my blessings… But I can only count four," she replied as she continued to stare at her fingers.

"Only four?" Rosette asked as she joined in on the staring contest at Christopher's fingers.

"Yeah, only four, sorta sad, that," Christopher muttered, letting her hand drop to the packed dirt floor, wincing as her knuckles grazed a few small rocks.

"There's gotta be more then four!" Rosette exclaimed, resting her hands on the teen's small shoulders.

"Nope, just four."

"Well, what are they?"

"Well, one's that I got hired by Eamon," she folded down one finger.

"The next one's that I met you and Chrono," another finger was curled back down to her small palm.

"Then, Brother Robert… and last of all, coming to America," and with that Christopher sighed, leaning back against the seat of the heavy stone bench.

"Wait… you didn't mention the fact that you're alive!" Rosette exclaimed, standing up quickly and positioning herself in front of the teen, who looked up, smiling sadly.

"That's because that's not a blessing," was the reply the young nun got as Christopher smiled weakly.

"WHAT! DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT?" Christopher cried out, her rage nearly ready to boil over at the teen's disregard for her life.

"My entire life, I've been told I'm a curse, that I'm nothing but a plague. What else am I supposed to think?" Christopher replied sadly.

"Don't think that! Just cuz' everyone's been telling you that, doesn't mean it's true!"

Christopher pulled away from the frightening nun who was waving her fist frantically at her.

"I guess I'm just that pathetic…" the girl muttered, curling her feet under her small body before looking up at Rosette pathetically.

"Just… don't say that! Everyone has a reason, and just because you're told you're evil or something, doesn't mean that you are! Why not teach them a lesson? Be good!" Rosette shook her finger at the girl who looked up, smiling through the tears that rolled down her thin face.

Off at the gate Chrono stood, leaning against the old stone arch, smiling at the two girls who were now hugging, both crying, though neither really had a reason to. Yeah, that was what Rosette did, she made things better. With a fleeting smile Chrono turned around, heading to the dining hall for supper…

there we go! End of yet another chapter! This is great! Well, tell me what you think please, and thanks for reading! Cheerio until next chapter…


	14. Always fighting

His mind racing, Eamon desperately tried to calm down as he stared at his reflection in the blood speckled mirror. On white, the walls of the room were splattered with his blood as it slowly dripped down from the ceiling onto the floor.

"Ugh…" He groaned as his head began to ache. Thousands of voice flooded through his thoughts and it felt like he was drowning in an endless sea of noise. He desperately gasped for air like a fish out water, trying to rid himself of the noise. Falling heavily onto his knees he crumpled, attempting to wait the noise out but it wasn't working.

"No… stop…please…" he muttered, wishing with all of his might for the racket that surrounded him to stop. It was voices. Voices praying, singing, talking. Hundreds upon hundreds all crammed into his head. And the pain! He heard screams of terror and of people who were dying before their time. Every scream seemed to run through his heart. It felt like he was dying with them.

"Poor Israfel…" a voice muttered as Eamon looked up though clouded eyes to see a young man with deep chestnut hair that was as messy as his, the bangs falling into his clear blue eyes. Dressed in pale cream robes he swiftly knelt in front of Eamon.

"My brother Gabriel told me to come…" he whispered, "Now please, stay quiet or else others will hear you and come!"

Eamon's vision was slowly coming into focus as he tried to find out where he knew the man's face from.

"Do not worry… You are free from that body, relax…" Eamon felt the visitor's rough hand pulling his face up so he could see him better.

"Who are you?" Eamon managed to gasp out.

"Michael… Now calm down and I will hide these wings for the time being, until you learn to do so yourself… I must go, farewell my brother…" and in a blinding flash of white light he was gone.

Eamon collapsed on the floor, his head colliding painfully with the cheap, blood stained carpet. When he opened his eyes again the room was clean, his wings were gone and all that were left of the visitor was a long, pure white feather that seemed to glow. Groaning as his body ached, he pulled himself off the ground, exhausted and still weak from the pain he had just endured. The voices were gone; his head blissfully clear of any sound except his own quiet thoughts.

"EAMON?" Christopher's voice called out as she banged her fist upon his door while wiping tears away with her other hand.

"What?"

"Are you still asleep! I'm coming in!" she exclaimed as she threw the door open to see Eamon standing unsurely on his legs, as if threatening to fall.

"Christopher?" he asked, unsure as she raced forward to catch him as he fell to the ground again, his legs collapsing from underneath him, his eyes closing…

_Eamon found himself standing in a forest clearing, clutching the body of the young woman named Maria close to his chest. He was once again dressed in the heavy white robes and his chin rested on the scarf that she had wrapped around her hair. _

_"Israfel…" she whispered softly, her arms twining around his chest, pulling them closer together. _

_"Maria…" he muttered as she looked up at him with tear filled eyes. Suddenly his body moved forward, against his own will and his lips gently brushed against hers. _

_"Please… don't leave me again…" she whispered, pulling him closer to her, tears still rolling down her face._

_"Why would I leave you?" he asked gently when he heard someone step up behind him…_

Christopher held Eamon gently, letting his head rest on her shoulders, secretly enjoying the warmth that he gave off. His face seemed so serene as he lay there, so calm. The corners of his mouth were just barely turned upward in a small smile, making a warm blush creep across Christopher's face.

"Eamon…" she whispered…

_Eamon suddenly looked around as the forest dissolved around him, his arms closing on nothing as Maria faded into the shadows that suddenly surrounded him. The only thing he saw was a young woman happily holding a gleefully gurgling baby in her arms. Her hair was falling softly in wisps around her face, framing her small features and he nearly cried. The woman was his mother._

_"Oh Eamon, you are going to be meant for great things…" she whispered to the child and Eamon wanted to rush forward to reach his mother but his legs wouldn't obey him. _

_The two dissolved in front of him to be replaced with the most horrifying memory that Eamon had…_

Suddenly Eamon screamed, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands flailing out, colliding with Christopher. Wincing from the pain that spread away from each blow but she held on, clutching the young man to her.

"Shush… please… you're okay…" she whispered in his ears as she began to wonder what was scaring him so much.

_A young boy of around 8 years was crumpled to the floor, sobbing. Bright, messy red hair fell into his face, covering his eyes so he could no longer see the scene before him. Laying just a foot away from the child was the young woman with wispy brown hair, her body covered in blood that had finally stopped flowing from the large hole in her chest. Her face was everlastingly suspended in a look of sadness, large green eyes half open, tears still falling onto the ground._

_Eamon wished he could have rushed forward but all he could do was stand there, frozen, silently crying. Lying just a bit away was his father, a slight man who always needed glasses or else he was blind. Addicted more to books than exorcisms he was the man that raised Eamon to love literature. Four slash marks were carved into his body, his throat cut open for all to see. _

_"Eamon…" he heard a voice whisper as the horrifying image slowly dissolved away and all he could hear was a female voice that seemed all to familiar. It was Christopher's._

_"Eamon… please…please wake up…" her voice whispered and slowly he felt himself drifting out of his sleep…_

"Come on Eamon…" Christopher whispered as Eamon's eyes slowly flickered open, his intense sapphire eyes staring at her face and she nearly cried.

"Ugh… you're choking me…" he muttered, shoving the girl off of him.

"HEY! I was just worried!" she cried back, now upset for a whole new reason.

Eamon just rolled his eyes heavenward though he was secretly enjoying her hugging him.

"I'm fine… just get off!" he groaned as she let go.

"Is he okay?" Christopher looked over to see Rosette standing in the doorway as Eamon tried his best to stand on still shaking legs.

"I said I'm fine!" Eamon spat as his legs finally stopped shaking so violently and he just sighed, grateful that he wasn't blacking out!

"You weren't just a minute ago!" Christopher retorted, any fuzzy feelings for him long since gone.

"What happened?"

Chrono had stepped into the doorway, illuminated by the windows that were across from the small room.

"This arse passed out and is trying to say it's not a problem!" Christopher exclaimed, quickly standing.

"I'm fine! How many more times do I need to tell you this!"

"Fine? Don't you dare say you're fine!"

Eamon looked tersely at his partner. Her hands resting on her small hips she looked rather upset, but why should that bother him?

"FINE! Do what you want! See if I care!" she cried out, storming out of the room. Rosette and Chrono hurried out of the girl's way, not wanted to piss her off.

The door to Eamon's room slammed shut behind her and with that she quickly let her legs carry her until she was out somewhere in the middle of a lush green field. Angry winds whipped around her, tugging at her skirt and hair, biting into her skin with icy teeth. Above her was a dark sky, gray clouds moved across the vast heavens above in the same slow pace, as though a slave driver's drum beat them along their steady ways.

"That man!" she screamed out to the skies, as though someone was listening.

"What man?" a familiar, chilly voiced asked. As she spun around to face the speaker she saw a painful sight of Rael, standing there smugly, arms crossed over his chest. Still dressed as impeccably as ever, he wore a blood red over coat and khaki pants. His platinum hair didn't seem to be fazed by the wind, unlike hers, which was dancing around her body in a frenzy.

"YOU!"

"Me?"

"Yes… you."

Christopher's mind began to race as the frightening young man slowly made his way towards her, his polished shoes crushing the soft emerald blades of grass. Christopher slowly turned away from him and began to run, not wanting to fight. Wind whistled in her ears and pushed her hair away from her face, letting it reach out behind her, lingering where she once was.

"Do you think you can escape me… mutt?" he asked coolly, following her, matching her step for step.

"No! I don't! But I can at least buy myself some time!" she replied, pushing herself to go faster, the blood pounding past her ears.

"How naïve…" he muttered as slowly he caught up to her, the distance between them was being eaten by his long legs. "Hmpf… learn to die!" he cried out as she felt something tear at her left arm. A fine mist of blood sprayed into the air to be whisked away by the wind. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as something kept tearing at her skin and dress, until she finally stopped running, crumpling onto the grass. Try as she might, her body would not move.

"Poor baby… you're wings are being clipped… you can't run, what will you do now?" he asked her quietly as he walked up behind her, his strong hands grasped painfully onto her shoulder. Fingers dug into the deep cuts, ripping the edges of the skin, making her cry out in pain.

"To think Israfel would choose you to help him… you're not a full devil! Which pathetic spawn of darkness brought you to this world!" Rael's hand grasped onto the top of her head, pulling back so she could face him. Tears rolled down her face from pain and terror and as he raised his hands to kill her, terrified eyes watched. Her body still not responding he smirked and his hand started to glow in a pure white when suddenly he stopped and looked at the part of his hand that had touched her skin… it was burnt and bleeding.

"You not… HIS daughter… are you?" he asked cautiously, pulling his hand away, looking at the charred fingers…

Rosette and Chrono were already in the mess hall, happily munching on their food when Eamon finally emerged from his room and sat down, biting angrily into a soft white bun. The table seemed to be consumed with an odd, awkward silence until the doors to the mess hall opened and someone walked casually up to their table. He was a young man who couldn't be more then twenty years old. Soft, ginger colored hair fell to about his shoulders, pulled back with an old hair tie. Dressed in shabby clothing, it would seem that he had been traveling for quite some time. His baby blue eyes scanned across the table and then finally rested onto Eamon.

"You…" the man breathed and Eamon looked over, shocked to see the young man.

"…" Eamon could not find the right words and still stared at the man who had just arrived.

"I am supposed to deliver this…" the man explained, then reached into the large messenger bag that was slung over his shoulders, and fished out an old leather tome, covered in thick, dirty linen. Eamon stared at the book, along with everyone else at the table…

Rael reached forward to choke Christopher, but as soon as his skin touched hers he pulled away, screaming in anguish and slowly Christopher got to her feet, a cold smirk slowly making it's way across her face.

"Angel… you dare try to hurt me?" she asked in an odd voice, it was rough, as though talking hurt her. Each word cut at Rael like a knife. She slowly raised her hand to kill him….

-there we go. Sorry it took so long to update! Bye!


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